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THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y. 


I:  I b \\  \ lit 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH,  AND  THE 
SPANISH  MILITARY  NDN 


BY 

THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


EDITED  WITH  INTRODUCTORY  AND  TEXTUAL  NOTES 

BY 

CAROL  M.  NEWMAN,  Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE  PROFESSOR  OF  ENGLISH  IN  THE  VIRGINIA 

POLYTECHNIC  INSTITUTE 


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PREFACE 

, £ 

'X  % 

In  preparing  this  book,  the  editor  has  endeavored  to  keep 
^constantly  in  mind  its  practical  purpose  — use  in  elementary 
'^and  secondary  schools.  He  has  attempted,  therefore,  to 
.^supply  such  things  as  the  students  of  these  schools  may 
, -'reasonably  demand  : an  accurate  text,  — that  of  Masson's 
I sedition  ; a brief  sketch  of  De  Quincey's  life,  with  some 
comments  on  his  personality  and  his  place  in  our  litera- 
ture ; a practical  discussion  of  De  Quincey's  rhetorical  merits 
• ^ and  faults,  to  be  used  in  connection  wTith  the  text-book  study 
N*of  rhetoric;  such  information  about  Joan  of  Arc  and  Cata- 
Ijlina  de  Erauso  as  is  requisite  to  a proper  understanding  of 
' the  essays  concerning  them ; a brief  working  bibliography; 
^and  numerous  textual  notes,  including  De  Quincey's  own, 
*^on  the  essays  themselves.  These  textual  notes  are  indeed 
H numerous ; the  editor,  however,  has  not  assumed  a refer- 
't^ence  library  at  the  student's  command,  but  has  attempted 
> pto  furnish  him  in  the  present  volume  with  the  means  of 
^appreciating  both  intensively  and  extensively  what  De 
^jQuincey  has  here  written. 

""Free  use  has  been  made,  in  the  course  of  this  work,  of 
^various  authorities.  Masson's  De  Quincey  has  been  the 
chief  source  for  the  biography  of  the  author;  the  rhetorical 
; ^discussion  has  followed  somewhat  the  similar  discussion  in 


I i 7o9Q6 


VI 


fit  l 


PREFA CE 


Minto's  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature;  the  story  oi 
the  Maid  of  Orleans  has  been  drawn  largely  from  Judge 
Lowell’s  excellent  Joan  of  Arc,  from  which,  with  the  pub- 
lishers’ permission,  the  map  of  Northern  and  Central  France 
has  also  been  taken ; and  aid  in  the  preparation  of  the  text- 
ual notes  on  Joan  of  Arc  and  The  English  Mail-Coach  has 
been  furnished  by  previous  editions  of  the  same  essays, 
notably  Hart’s  and  Turk’s.  To  various  friends  the  editor 
would  here  express  his  thanks  for  many  helpful  suggestions; 
to  Dr.  Charles  W.  Kent,  Professor  of  English  Literature  at 
the  University  of  Virginia,  to  the  Librarian  of  the  Virginia 
Polytechnic  Institute,  to  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  and  to 
the  editor’s  wife,  special  acknowledgments  are  due  for  the 
invaluable  aid  received  from  them. 


C.  M.  N. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PREFACE  . 
INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 

• • # 

m 

• 

a 

• V 

I. 

Biographical  and 

Critical 

a 

• 

a 

. IX 

II. 

Chronological 

• • • 

a 

• 

a 

. XXV 

III. 

Rhetorical  . 

IV. 

V. 

Creative 

Historical 

9 9 • 

• 

9 

9 

. xlii 

i 

A.  Joan  of  Arc 

» • 9 

• 

• 

• 

. xliii 

B.  Catalina  de  Erauso 

a 

• 

• 

. Ivii 

VI. 

Bibliographical 

n + 0 

9 

• 

• 

. )xx 

MAP 

• • • e 

• 09 

• 

a 

• 

Ixxiii 

JOAN  OF  ARC  . 

e e 9 

9 

9 

0 

1 

THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 

Section  L — The  Glory  of  Motion  . . . . 36 

Section  II. — -The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death  . . 64 

Section  III. — Dream-Fugue;  founded  on  the  Pre- 
ceding Theme  of  Sudden  Death  . ...  85 

Author’s  Postscript » 95 


vii 


CONTENTS 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN  . 
Author’s  Postscript 


TEXTUAL  NOTES 


PAGE 

. 98 

. 184 

. 191 


INDEX  TO  TEXTUAL  NOTES 


e 


e 


291 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


I.  Biographical  and  Critical 

f 

Two  of  the  most  strikingly  eccentric  figures  in  English 
literary  history  are  Samuel  Johnson  and  Thomas  De  Quincey. 
Yet  how  unlike  as  to  their  eccentricities ! In  a few  respects, 
not  altogether  peculiar,  — their  love  of  tea,  their  conversa- 
tional abilities,  their  ingrained  Toryism,  their  generosity, 
their  devotion  to  the  established  church,  — we  do,  indeed, 
find  similarities  between  them,  but  on  the  whole,  we  can 
imagine  no  greater  contrast  than  that  between  the  burly 
giant,  coarse  in  his  manners,  dictatorial  in  his  talk,  a lover  of 
disputations,  a most  clubable,  practical  man,  and  the  diminu- 
tive Opium  Eater,  whose  shyness  and  unpracticality  were 
proverbial  and  whose  gentleness  of  speech  and  of  demeanor 
was  almost  effeminate.  From  these  differences  springs 
another  and  still  greater  difference,  which  we  have  here  to 
regret.  The  faithful  Boswell  has  made  each  word,  each  act, 
of  Johnson’s  familiar  to  us,  but  careful  investigation  has  re- 
vealed little  more  than  the  main  facts  of  De  Quincey’s  life. 
For  his  childhood  and  youth  we  have,  to  be  sure,  his  auto- 
biography, and  we  find  that  in  various  places  elsewhere  he  has 
recorded  still  other  facts  about  himself ; but  for  information 
concerning  the  longest  and  most  important  periods  of  his 
career  we  must  rely  in  large  measure  upon  the  imperfect  recol- 
lections of  his  friends  and  relatives,  and  upon  such  letters  of 
his  as  have  been  preserved.  We  should  like  to  study  in  detail 


X 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


all  the  doings  of  this  strange  genius;  the  substance  of  what 
is  certainly  known  about  him  may  be  recorded  briefly  enough. 

Thomas  De  Quincey  was  born  in  Manchester  on  August 
15,  1785.  His  Norman  ancestors,  as  he  himself  once  proudly 
told  King  George  III,  had  come  to  England  with  William  the 
Conqueror,  and  among  their  descendants  had  been  men  of 
distinction.  In  the  thirteenth  century,  indeed,  the  De 
Quincevs  were  Earls  of  Winchester  — until  unfortunately 
one  of  their  number  was  attainted  for  treason  and  hanged, 
whereupon  the  family  greatness  came  to  an  end.  For  sev- 
eral generations  before  the  time  of  Thomas  they  had  been 
plain  Quinceys,  never  rising  above  mediocrity.  His  father, 
another  Thomas,  was  merely  a well-to-do  merchant,  who  had 
amassed  some  fortune  through  a profitable  business  in  Por- 
tugal, America,  and  the  West  Indies,  though  in  addition  he 
was  a man  of  distinct  literary  tastes  and  had  even  written  a 
book.  In  the  midst  of  his  prosperity  he  married  a Miss 
Elizabeth  Penson,  who  bore  him  eight  children,  Thomas 
being  the  fifth  child  and  second  son. 

Soon  after  the  birth  of  this  son  the  family  moved  from 
Manchester  to  a country  place  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city 
called  “The  Farm”;  here  and  at  “Greenhay,  ” another  sub- 
urban home,  his  early  childhood  was  spent.  From  the  first 
he  seems  to  have  been  shy,  retiring,  and  sensitive,  given  to 
dreaming  and  to  brooding  over  the  mysteries  of  life.  The 
almost  morbid  seriousness  of  his  character  was  intensified 
by  his  early  experience  of  death  and  its  sorrows:  his  sister 
Jane  died  in  1787 ; his  favorite  sister  Elizabeth,  whose  mem- 
ory became  his  dearest  treasure,  followed  in  1791 ; and  then 
in  1792  came  the  father's  death.  This  father  young  Thomas 
never  really  knew,  for  consumption  had  kept  him  abroad  in 
search  of  health  until  at  last  he  returned  home  to  die.  The 
son's  loss  in  being  thus  deprived  of  one  who  might  have 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XI 


guided  and  advised  his  young  manhood  can  hardly  be  over- 
estimated. 

By  the  father’s  will  the  family  was  well  provided  for,  a 
yearly  income  of  £1,600  being  divided  between  the  mother 
and  six  children.  The  guardianship  of  the  children  was 
placed  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  De  Quincey  and  four  of  her  hus- 
band’s friends,  but  it  was  upon  the  mother,  of  course,  that 
the  chief  responsibility  for  their  early  training  devolved. 
From  De  Quincey  himself  we  learn  that  she  was  a woman 
of  rare  intellectual  powers;  from  his  further  remarks  and 
from  other  sources  we  infer  that  she  was  strict  even  to  harsh- 
ness, partly  because  of  her  high  conception  of  a child’s  duty 
to  its  parents  and  partly  because  of  her  austere  religious 
principles.  Had  there  been  in  her  more  of  the  loving,  sym- 
pathetic mother  and  less  of  the  stern  disciplinarian,  the 
character  of  one  of  her  sons  might  have  been  developed  along 
other  and  more  normal  lines. 

Nevertheless,  this  dreamy  youth  was  not  to  be  allowed  to 
dream  and  muse  altogether  at  will.  Soon  after  Mr.  De 
Quincey’s  death  there  had  come  to  disturb  the  peace  of 
Greenhay,  the  eldest  son,  William  De  Quincey,  who  had  lived 
for  some  time  with  his  father  in  Lisbon  and  had  later  been 
sent  to  a grammar  school  at  Louth.  This  young  gentleman, 
whose  “genius  for  mischief  amounted  to  inspiration,”  was 
rough,  boisterous,  pugilistic,  overbearing,  but  withal  exceed- 
ingly clever.  He  immediately  established  a reign  of  terror  in 
the  household,  making  Thomas  his  most  abject  slave  and 
holding  him  in  thrall  for  nearly  four  years.  Thomas  must 
fag  for  him,  must  join  in  his  battles,  must  think  and  act 
in  accordance  with  his  commands.  How  intensely  the  sen- 
sitive younger  brother  must  have  suffered  from  this  over- 
lordship we  can  easily  imagine;  we  may  be  certain,  too, 
that  this  “introduction  to  the  world  of  strife”  did  much  to 


Xll 


IN  TR  on  UC  TORY  NO  TES 


prevent  the  dreamy  melancholy  of  De  Quincey  from  passing 
into  morbidity  and  perhaps  disease. 

Meanwhile  the  education  of  the  children  was  not  being 
neglected.  Into  their  father’s  library  they  were  early  turned 
to  browse  at  will,  and  wonderfully  soon  our  De  Quincey  was 
reading  from  Johnson  and  Cowper,  from  the  Bible  and  the 
Arabian  Nights.  When  lessons  at  home  and  voluntary 
reading  no  longer  furnished  sufficient  intellectual  pabulum, 
William  and  Thomas  were  put  under  the  tutorship  of  Mr. 
Samuel  Hall,  one  of  their  guardians,  who  lived  at  Salford, 
two  miles  distant  from  Greenhay.  By  him  Thomas  was  well 
grounded  in  Latin  and  Greek,  and  was  put  through  a course 
of  memory-training  more  profitable  than  pleasant. 

In  1796  Mrs.  De  Quincey  moved  to  Bath,  and  Thomas  was 
placed  in  the  Bath  Grammar  School.  Here  were  spent  the 
most  delightful  of  all  his  school  days;  the  master  was  “ a 
scholar,  and  a ripe  and  good  one,”  and  De  Quincey  s prog- 
ress under  him  was  rapid.  Soon  he  became  so  proficient  in 
Latin  composition  that  his  exercises  were  publicly  paraded 
before  the  older  boys  of  the  school, -whose  chagrin  and  envy 
led  them  to  swear  dire  vengeance  upon  their  youthful  model. 
However  pleasing  his  position  of  eminence  may  have  been 
to  De  Quincey  himself,  it  did  not  please  his  mother,  who  had 
her  own  peculiar  ideas  as  to  what  was  best  for  her  son ; so, 
when  in  1799  an  accident  had  caused  him  to  leave  the  school 
for  some  weeks,  she  refused  to  allow  him  to  return.  For  a 
time  he  studied  under  a tutor;  then  he  was  sent  to  a pri- 
vate school  at  Winkfield  in  Wiltshire,  of  which  the  chief 
recommendation  was  the  religious  character  of  the  master. 

After  a year  spent  at  this  institution,  De  Quincey  exchanged 
the  education  of  books  for  the  education  of  travel.  While  at 
Bath  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Lord  Westport,  a 
boy  somewhat  older  than  himself,  the  only  son  of  an  Irish 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  xiii 

peer;  from  him  there  came  in  the  spring  of  1800  an  invita- 
tion to  be  his  companion  on  a holiday  jaunt  to  Ireland. 
This  invitation  his  mother  allowed  De  Quincey  to  accept,  so 
in  the  following  summer  he  joined  Lord  Westport  at  Eton. 
After  having  been  introduced  to  George  III  and  his  court  at 
Windsor,  and  after  having  paid  a brief  visit  to  London,  the 
young  gentlemen  started  on  their  journey.  In  due  time  they 
reached  Ireland  and  then  spent  several  weeks  most  delight- 
fully at  Westport,  in  Connaught.  Before  the  end  of  the 
year,  however,  De  Quincey  parted  from  his  friend  at  Bir- 
mingham, and  went  to  Laxton  in  Northamptonshire  to 
visit  Lady  Carbery,  an  old  friend  of  his  mother’s.  Here  his 
time  was  mainly  occupied  in  reading,  learning  to  ride,  and 
teaching  Lady  Carbery  the  rudiments  of  'Greek. 

Ever  since  leaving  Winkfield,  De  Quincey  had  been  mak- 
ing plans  for  his  future  school  life,  and  had  written  several 
times  to  his  mother  and  guardians  requesting  that  he  be 
sent  back  to  the  Bath  Grammar  School  until  old  enough  to 
enter  Oxford,  and  objecting  most  seriously  to  any  further 
connection  with  private  institutions.  His  requests  were,  in 
a measure,  granted ; on  leaving  Laxton  he  was  sent  to  the 
Manchester  Grammar  School,  in  order  that  by  spending  three 
years  there  he  might  secure  a scholarship  at  Brazenose  Col- 
lege, Oxford.  The  life  at  Manchester,  however,  soon  became 
extremely  distasteful  to  him.  The  master  was  by  no  means 
perfect  in  his  scholarship ; the  associations  were  not  of  the 
most  pleasant ; the  restrictions  upon  the  students’  liberties 
were  galling;  the  impossibility  of  securing  sufficient  exercise 
was  ruinous  to  the  health;  the  opportunities  of  amusement 
were  few;  the  duties  of  the  class-room  were  trivial  and  mo- 
notonous, — such  were  the  complaints  De  Quincey  made  in  a 
letter  written  to  his  mother  after  he  had  spent  just  half  the 
allotted  time  at  Manchester,  begging  her  that  he  might  be 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


xiv 

allowed  to  leave  the  school.  His  pleas  being  in  vain,  ht 
resolved  to  take  matters  in  his  own  hands  and  run  away. 
So,  one  fine  July  morning  in  the  year  1802,  he  slipped  out  of 
the  master’s  house  before  daylight  and  started  off  to  learn 
something  of  the  world,  a volume  of  English  poetry  in  one 
pocket  and  a volume  of  Greek  poetry  in  the  other. 

His  first  thought  was  to  pay  a parting  visit  to  one  of  his 
sisters  at  Chester,  where  the  family  was  then  living ; thither 
he  made  his  way,  — only  to  be  discovered  and  taken  in 
charge  by  the  older  members  of  the  household.  . His  mother 
was  duly  horrified  at  his  conduct,  but  an  uncle,  Colonel  Pen- 
son,  interceded  for  the  runaway  and  arranged  that  he  should 
be  allowed  the  liberty  of  wandering  about  for  a while,  and  — 
which  was  quite  as  important  — should  be  supplied  with  a 
guinea  a week  on  which  to  support  himself. 

His  wanderings  first  carried  De  Quincey  into  North  Wales, 
where  he  alternately  lived  in  luxury  or  starved  himself  — in 
accordance  with  the  state  of  his  finances.  But  even  such  a 
roving  life  was  too  conventional  to  suit  his  tastes,  and  he 
presently  resolved  to  seek  books  and  still  greater  solitude  in 
“the  nation  of  London,”  where  he  might  contrive  to  live  by 
borrowing  upon  his  expectations.  Accordingly,  in  Novem- 
ber, 1802,  he  ceased  all  communication  with  his  mother  and 
guardians  and  made  his  way  to  the  metropolis.  Of  the 
months  spent  there  — months  of  fruitless  dealings  with 
money-lenders,  of  homeless  wandering  about  the  streets,  of 
forced  association  with  the  outcast  and  the  destitute  — 
months  of  poverty,  starvation,  intense  suffering  — he  has 
given  us  a complete  account  in  his  Confessions.  Suffice  it 
to  say  here  that  after  he  had  drained  the  cup  of  city  life  to 
the  very  dregs,  he  was  fortunately  discovered  by  friends,  and 
in  the  spring  of  1803  returned  to  his  family.  In  the  fall  of 
the  same  year  he  accepted  his  guardians’  offer  to  send  him 
to  Oxford  on  a small  allowance. 


. INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XV 


Concerning  De  Quincey ’s  Oxford  days  little  definite  is 
known.  Years  afterwards  he  was  remembered  as  a quiet 
and  studious  young  man,  of  rare  conversational  powers,  fond 
of  solitude,  and  possessed  of  an  extraordinary  stock  of  infor- 
mation upon  all  subjects.  He  seems  to  have  paid  little  atten- 
tion to  the  prescribed  curriculum,  but  pursued  for  himself 
the  study  of  Hebrew  and  German,  and  plunged  headlong 
into  the  delights  of  English  literature.  About  the  year  1807 
he  stood  successfully  the  written  examination  for  the  B.A. 
degree,  but  for  some  reason,  not  clearly  known,  never  came 
up  for  the  oral  part  of  his  examination.  Though  his  nominal 
connection  with  the  University  continued  for  some  years  after 
this,  it  is  probable  that  De  Quincey  spent  little  more  time  at 
Oxford.  Instead,  he  started  out  to  become  acquainted  with 
some  of  those  men  of  letters  whom  he  had  long  admired.  At 
Bridgewater  he  met  Coleridge,  and  soon  after  acted  as  escort 
to  Mrs.  Coleridge  and  her  children  on  their  journey  to  the 
Lake  District,  where  they  were  to  reside  with  Southey. 
Through  this  trip,  De  Quincey  was  enabled  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Wordsworth,  at  whose  cottage  the  party 
stopped  for  a few  days ; a little  later  he  was  introduced  to 
Southey  himself.  His  admiration  for  two  of  these  new  friends 
was  given  material  expression  soon  after,  when  he  made  an 
anonymous  gift  of  £300  to  Coleridge  and  aided  Wordsworth 
greatly  by  seeing  one  of  his  pamphlets  through  the  press.  After 
spending  most  of  the  year  1808  in  London,  in  nominal  prepa- 
ration for  entrance  at  the  bar,  De  Quincey  decided  that,  in 
order  to  be  near  his  literary  acquaintances,  he  would  take  up 
his  own  residence  in  the  Lake  District. 

In  November,  1809,  De  Quincey  became  the  occupant  of 
the  cottage  at  Grasmere  formerly  the  home  of  Wordsworth, 
and  for  twenty  years  remained,  nominally  at  least,  a resident 
of  Westmoreland.  Here  he  found  all  thingr  to  his  liking. 


XVI 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


Among  his  neighbors  were  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and 
Southey,  and  he  soon  formed  a strong  friendship  with  John 
Wilson,  later  to  become  the  great  “ Christopher  North”  of 
Blackwood.  A part  of  his  time  De  Quincey  spent  in  taking 
long  walks  — sometimes  with  his  friends,  more  often  alone 
— or  in  visiting  his  neighbors ; for  the  most  of  it,  he  was 
busy  among  his  books,  studying  German  metaphysics  and 
drinking  laudanum.  We  must  pause  here  to  note  that  while 
on  a visit  to  London  in  1804,  De  Quincey  had  chanced  to 
seek  relief  from  neuralgia  by  taking  opium,  and  that  from 
this  time  forward  he  had  been  an  intermittent  user  of  the 
drug.  In  1813,  however,  he  became  an  habitual  opium- 
eater,  consuming  at  times  the  monstrous  quantity  of  eight 
thousand  drops  of  laudanum  per  day.  In  1815,  to  be  sure, 
he  reduced  this  quantity  to  one  thousand  drops  — a reform 
made  in  honor  of  his  approaching  marriage  (1816)  with 
Margaret  Simpson,  the  daughter  of  a Westmoreland  farmer. 
Unfortunately,  however,  this  young  and  beautiful  wife 
was  soon  called  upon  to  serve  as  his  comforter  and  sup- 
port during  the  very  darkest  hours  of  his  opium  pros- 
tration. Between  1817  and  1818  the  sway  of  the  drug 
was  complete;  De  Quincey  could  neither  walk  nor  eat  nor 
read  nor  think,  and  his  sleeping  hours  were  full  of  horror. 
From  the  absolute  torpor  and  torment  into  which  he  was 
thus  plunged,  pecuniary  difficulties  at  last  rescued  him;  he 
must  do  something  to  support  himself  and  his  family.  By 
1819  he  had  so  far  rallied  his  powers  as  to  be  able  to  under- 
take the  editorship  of  the  W estmoreland  Gazette , in  which 
appeared  almost  the  first  printed  lines  from  his  pen.  Need- 
less to  say,  he  was  not  a successful  editor,  since  German 
transcendentalism  could  hardly  please  the  farmers,  who 
looked  to  their  paper  for  political  editorials  of  the  partisan 
type;  but  fortunately  De  Quincey  had  at  last  experienced 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XVII 


what  Dr.  Holmes  has  called  “lead  poisoning”  caused  by 
‘mental  contact  with  type  metal,”  from  which  he  was  never 
thenceforth  to  recover. 

In  the  London  Magazine  for  September,  1821,  Thomas  De 
Quincey,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six  years,  made  his  real  debut 
before  the  English  reading  public  with  the  first  instalment 
of  the  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater.  In  October 
a second  part  followed,  and  in  1822  the  Confessions  were 
published  in  book  form.  At  once  De  Quincey  became  famous, 
and  the  London  Magazine  was  eager  for  any  production  from 
his  pen.  To  this  magazine  he  contributed  until  1824;  in 
1825  he  published  a pseudo-translation  from  the  German 
called  Walladmor,  one  of  the  three  books  of  which  he  was 
the  author.  During  the  years  of  this  first  literary  period 
(1821-1826),  so  brilliant  and  full  of  promise,  De  Quincey 
resided  chiefly  in  London,  though  his  home  continued  to  be 
at  Grasmere.  But  London  knew  little  of  him.  He  had  a 
few  acquaintances,  men  like  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  Hood,  Talfourd, 
Procter,  and  Knight,  with  whom  he  exchanged  occasional 
visits,  but  for  the  most  part  he  avoided  all  intercourse  with 
his  fellows  and  spent  his  time  with  his  books  and  his  lauda- 
num at  those  lodgings  in  Soho  Square,  Covent  Garden,  or 
elsewhere,  which  he  chanced  to  be  occupying.  Such  exer- 
cise as  he  took  consisted  largely  of  solitary  wanderings 
through  the  crowded  London  streets.  During  most  of  this 
period  he  seems  to  have  suffered  severely  for  want  of  money ; 
writing  for  the  magazines  was  not  the  most  lucrative  of  em- 
ployments, and  his  own  unpracticality  fitted  him  but  poorly 
for  making  the  best  use  of  such  funds  as  he  might  chance  to 
have  in  his  possession.  A story  told  by  Mr.  Charles  Knight 
will  serve  to  illustrate  both  De  Quincey ’s  helplessness  in 
business  matters  and  his  fondness  for  leaving  his  friends  in 
ignorance  as  to  his  whereabouts.  On  one  occasion  when  De 


XV111 


INTRODUCTORY  notes 


Quincey  was  supposed  to  be  at  home  in  Westmoreland,  Mr, 
Knight  found  him  hiding  away  in  a wretched  lodging  cn 
the  Surrey  side  of  London,  the  cause  of  this  retirement  being 
his  lack  of  money.  He  had  in  his  pocket,  to  be  sure,  a large 
draft  cn  a London  bank,  at  twenty-one  days’  sight,  but 
since  the  bank  had  refused  to  cash  it  till  the  expiration  of 
this  time,  he  knew  no  means  of  raising  money  on  it  and 
was  too  shy  to  let  his  friends  know  of  his  embarrassment. 

The  centre  of  De  Quincey’s  literary  activity  was  changed 
in  the  year  1827  to  Edinburgh,  where  his  old  friend  John 
Wilson  had  become  celebrated  through  his  connection  with 
Blackwood' s Magazine.  For  some  years  Wilson  had  tried  to 
secure  contributions  to  Blackwood  from  De  Quincey,  and  at 
last  he  succeeded.  De  Quincey’s  connection  with  this  well- 
known  quarterly  began  in  1826  with  the  publication  of  his 
Lessing's  Laocobn  in  the  issue  for  November,  and  continued 
for  twenty-three  years.  To  Edinburgh,  therefore,  De  Quincey 
moved  his  literary  headquarters.  At  first,  much  of  his 
time  there  was  spent  with  Wilson;  Mrs.  Gordon,  Wilson’s 
daughter,  tells  us  that  on  one  occasion,  having  dropped  in 
at  Gloucester  Place  to  await  the  passing  of  a storm,  he  ended 
by  making  the  house  his  home  for  the  better  part  of  a year. 
Carlyle,  too,  was  among  his  Edinburgh  friends,  and  one  of 
the  readiest  to  sympathize  with  him  in  his  troubles.  Chief 
among  these  troubles  was,  naturally  enough,  a continuation 
of  the  pecuniary  embarrassment  that  was  so  characteristic  a 
feature  of  his  London  life.  Partly,  therefore,  because  he 
found  himself  unable  to  support  two  establishments,  and 
partly  because  he  was  anxious  to  have  his  wife  and  children 
near  him,  De  Quincey  in  1830  moved  his  family  to  Edin- 
burgh, which  was  to  be  his  only  home  for  ten  years  to  come. 

These  ten  years  were  filled  with  great  literary  activity  on 
De  Quincey’s  part.  Besides  continuing  his  contributions  to 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XIX 


Blackwood , he  wrote  numerous  essays  for  T ait’s  Magazine; 
in  all,  he  produced  some  sixty  magazine  articles  during  this 
period,  contributed  to  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica , and  in 
1832  published  his  only  novel,  Klosterheim , or  the  Mosque . 
Though  all  this  writing  added  materially  to  his  fame,  De 
Quincey  did  not  therefore  become  one  of  the  literary  lions  of 
Edinburgh.  His  love  of  solitude  caused  him  to  be  but  a very 
obscure  character  in  the  social  world  of  the  Scotch  capital. 
Obscurity  also  surrounded  his  domestic  life  there;  only  a 
few  of  the  many  houses  in  which  he  lived  are  now  definitely 
known.  We  do  know,  however,  that  De  Quincey ’s  home  life 
was  a very  beautiful  one  — rendered  so  largely  because 
of  his  uniform  gentleness,  his  deep  love  for  his  children,  and 
his  painstaking  attention  to  their  early  education.  But  the 
family  circle  was  not  long  to  remain  intact.  In  1833  Junius, 
the  youngest  son,  died,  to  be  followed  two  years  later  by 
William,  the  eldest.  Then,  in  1837,  came  the  greatest  sorrow 
of  all  in  the  death  of  Mrs.  De  Quincey,  the  noble  wife  that 
had  borne  so  bravely  with  the  faults  and  eccentricities  of  her 
husband  and  had  striven  so  faithfully  to  protect  him  from  the 
cares  and  worries  of  the  working-day  world.  For  a year  or 
two  thereafter  De  Quincey  had  his  library  and  study  in  one 
part  of  Edinburgh,  while  the  children's  home  was  in  another. 
In  1840,  however,  the  eldest  children,  Margaret  and  Horace, 
took  a cottage  near  Lasswade,  seven  miles  from  Edinburgh, 
and  here  for  some  time  De  Quincey  found  his  chief  abode. 

His  chief  abode,  be  it  repeated,  for  during  the  next  nine 
years  (1840-1849)  we  find  him  frequently  absent  from  Lass- 
wade. Often  he  would  be  occupying  lodgings  in  Edinburgh, 
where  he  would  keep  one  set  of  rooms  until  it  became  filled 
with  books  and  papers,  and  then  move  elsewhere,  leaving  his 
literary  treasures  behind,  so  that  sometimes  he  was  paying 
rent  on  as  many  as  four  separate  sets  of  lodgings  at  once. 


XX 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


From  1841  to  1843  he  was  as  far  from  home  as  Glasgow, 
where  he  was  the  guest  of  friends.  During  the  genera) 
period  under  consideration,  however,  Lasswade  saw  most 
of  him,  for  here  his  three  daughters  needed  his  protec- 
tion, the  sons  all  being  absent.  Yet  De  Quincey  must  have 
made  a somewhat  dangerous  protector,  since,  as  one  of  his 
daughters  tells  us,  “ those  nights  were  exceptions  on  which 
he  did  not  set  something  on  fire,  the  commonest  incident  be- 
ing for  some  one  to  look  up  from  book  or  work  to  say  casu- 
ally/Papa,  your  hair  is  on  fire;'  of  which  a calm,  ‘Is  it,  my 
love  ? ’ and  a hand  rubbing  out  the  blaze  was  the  only  notice 
taken."  The  happiness  of  this  life  at  Lasswade  among  the 
children  was  seriously  marred  for  De  Quincey  by  the  wretched 
condition  of  his  health,  the  gastric  neuralgia  with  which  he 
wras  afflicted  causing  him  to  suffer  almost  constantly  for 
many  years.  The  necessity  of  seeking  some  relief  from  this 
pain  was  largely  responsible  for  his  great  opium  excesses  in 
1844  and  1848,  after  the  last  of  which  his  use  of  the  drug, 
though  continued,  was  greatly  diminished.  Meanwhile  he 
still  contributed  regularly  to  Blackwood  and  Tail,  and  pub- 
lished in  1844  his  Logic  of  Political  Economy,  — a literary 
activity  largely  due  to  his  continued  need  of  money.  For- 
tunately, by  or  before  the  year  1847,  numerous  legacies 
caused  a marked  improvement  in  his  financial  affairs ; about 
this  time,  too,  the  “pains  and  miseries  of  his  constitutional 
malady"  ceased  to  torment  him.  Thus  De  Quincey  was  en- 
abled to  spend  the  closing  years  of  his  life  in  comparative 
comfort,  both  physical  and  financial. 

Those  closing  years  must  now  be  passed  over  somewhat 
rapidly.  In  1849  his  connection  wdtli  Tait  and  Blackwood 
being  practically  at  an  end,  De  Quincey  began  to  contribute 
to  Hogg’s  Weekly  Instructor,  afterwards  known  as  The  Titan. 
His  connection  with  Hogg  produced  one  most  important 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXI 


result,  for  this  enterprising  bookseller  conceived  the  idea  of 
bringing  out  a collective  edition  of  De  Quincey’s  works, 
such  an  edition  having  already  begun  to  appear  in  America, 
Perhaps  the  most  continuous  labor  ever  performed  by 
De  Quincey  was  that  devoted  to  collecting,  revising,  and 
recasting  the  material  for  the  fourteen  volumes  published 
between  1853  and  1860.  That  De  Quincey  did  this  work 
was  largely  due  to  the  untiring  efforts  of  Mr.  Hogg  himself, 
who  not  only  saw  to  it  that  De  Quincey  kept  the  press  sup- 
plied with  copy,  in  spite  of  the  “ nervous  sufferings,”  “ lum- 
bago,” “ partial  delirium,”  and  the  like,  of  which  he  was 
always  complaining,  but  aided  him  materially  in  gathering 
up  those  manuscript  deposits  left  in  various  places  all  over 
Edinburgh.  How  difficult  was  this  latter  task  a single  anec- 
dote will  show.  Once,  when  Hogg  and  De  Quincey  had  gone 
into  a hotel  for  refuge  and  refreshment  during  a storm,  the 
waiter,  after  eyeing  De  Quincey  curiously  for  some  moments, 
said,  “I  think,  sir,  I have  a bundle  of  papers  which  you 
left  here  some  time  ago.”  The  bundle  was  produced  and 
proved  to  contain  valuable  manuscripts,  of  whose  where- 
abouts De  Quincey  had  of  course  been  ignorant. 

While  preparing  the  material  for  Hogg’s  edition,  De 
Quincey  lived  chiefly  at  No.  42  Lothian  Street,  Edinburgh  ; 
but,  though  he  had  now  become  a celebrity  much  talked  of 
in  literary  circles,  he  was  rarely  to  be  seen  at  any  social 
gatherings  in  the  capital,  and  was  almost  inaccessible  to 
visitors,  even  when  they  chanced  to  be  his  most  intimate 
friends.  Meanwhile,  he  continued  to  spend  much  of  his  time 
at  Lasswade,  especially  after  two  of  his  daughters  had  been 
married  and  only  Emily  remained  at  the  old  home.  In  1857 
he  visited  one  of  these  married  daughters  in  Ireland.  He 
was  soon  back  again  in  Edinburgh,  however,  working  away 
at  the  Collective  Edition,  and  planning  great  literary  labors 


XXII 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


to  be  undertaken  when  this  task  should  be  finished.  But  hi* 
plans  were  never  to  reach  fruition.  In  the  autumn  of  1859 
De  Quincey  began  to  grow  feeble  and  unfit  for  work,  though 
he  suffered  from  no  definite  malady.  The  most  distinguished 
medical  skill  could  do  nothing  to  relieve  him;  he  continued 
to  sink  gradually  for  several  weeks,  until  on  Thursday. 
December  8,  the  end  came.  In  his  final  delirium  he  seemed 
to  be  living  over  again  the  days  of  his  childhood,  and  his 
last  words,  “ Sister!  sister!  sister!"  must  have  been  ad- 
dressed to  his  long-lost  Elizabeth,  who  doubtless  came  to  wel- 
come him  into  the  great  beyond.  He  was  buried  in  the  West 
Churchyard  at  Edinburgh  beside  his  wife  and  two  children. 
A simple  tablet  marks  his  final  resting-place;  another  at  42 
Lothian  Street  commemorates  his  residence  there  — but  no 
other  outward  honor  has  yet  been  paid  by  Edinburgh  to  per- 
haps the  rarest  genius  she  has  ever  sheltered. 

Having  noted  the  main  facts  in  De  Quincey 's  life,  we  may 
now  ask  after  the  man  himself,  what  sort  of  being  he  was. 
His  personal  appearance  has  been  carefully  described  by  his 
friend,  Mr.  J.  R.  Findlay:  “A  short  and  fragile,  but  well- 
proportioned  frame;  a shapely  and  compact  head;  a face 
beaming  with  intellectual  light,  with  rare,  almost  feminine 
beauty  of  feature  and  complexion ; a fascinating  courtesy  of 
manner;  and  a fulness,  swiftness,  and  elegance  of  silvery 
speech,  — such  was  the  irresistible  ‘ mortal  mixture  of  earth's 
mould'  that  men  named  De  Quincey.  He  possessed  in  a high 
degree  what  the  American  poet  Lowell  calls  1 the  grace  of  per- 
fect breeding,  everywhere  persuasive  and  nowhere  emphatic  ' ; 
and  his  whole  aspect  and  manner  exercised  an  undefinable 
attraction  over  every  one,  gentle  or  simple,  who  came  within 
its  influence." 

De  Quincey's  mental  and  moral  characteristics  are  still 
more  interesting,  though  not  so  easily  to  be  described.  If  I> 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXlll 


Quincey  was  primarily  the  secluded  scholar  living  in  the 
world  of  books  and  noted  chiefly  for  his  habit  of  omnivo- 
rous reading,  he  was  also  a careful  observer,  whose  knowledge 
of  men  is  singularly  accurate.  A marvellous  memory  made 
the  materials  thus  gathered  by  reading  and  experience  his 
own  for  all  time,  and  an  acute  intellect  enabled  him  to  reason 
exactly  upon  all  the  facts  within  his  knowledge.  He  was 
endowed,  moreover,  with  an  inventive  faculty,  an  imagina- 
tive power,  rarely  to  be  found  save  in  the  greatest  of  our 
poets,  which  enabled  him  to  reach  the  most  striking  conclu- 
sions, to  see  visions  and  dream  dreams  such  as  are  not  vouch- 
safed to  ordinary  mortals.  His,  also,  were  a profound  sym- 
pathy with  the  sorrow  and  the  suffering  of  the  world,  a true 
sense  of  pathos,  a fund  of  genuine  humor,  and,  above  all,  a 
love  of  the  sublime  and  the  mysterious,  whether  in  nature,  in 
life,  or  in  the  world  of  fancy.  Surely  a rare  endowment  was 
this,  wherein  logical  exactness  and  analytical  power  were  joined 
with  a poetic  faculty  by  means  of  which  he  was  enabled  often- 
times to  soar  aloft  into  the  highest  realms  of  the  empyrean. 

Morally,  De  Quincey ’s  character  is  less  admirable.  He  is 
never  immoral,  but  is  constantly  unmoral ; rarely  is  he  “ too 
fond  of  the  right  to  pursue  the  expedient.  ” Lacking  the 
sceva  indignatio  of  a Carlyle  or  a Ruskin,  he  makes  no  effort 
to  right  abuses,  “to  set  the  crooked  straight, to  be  himself 
a positive  influence  for  good  in  the  universe.  He  is,  indeed, 
a lover  of  the  good,  but  chiefly  because  it  is  the  beautiful 
and  the  pleasing,  and  because  he  is  an  intellectual  hedonist. 
De  Quincey  can  teach  us  much,  can  often  carry  us  with  him 
to  the  clouds,  can  inspire  us  with  noble  thoughts,  but  never 
does  he  offer  us  strong  meat  for  our  souls. 

Turning  to  consider  De  Quincey  ;s  contributions  to  our  lit- 
erature, we  find  that  with  the  exception  of  three  books,  — Wal- 
ladmor , Klosterheim , and  The  Logic  of  Political  Economy , — 


XXIV 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


all  these  contributions  took  the  one  form  of  magazine  articles. 
But  when  we  say  that  De  Quincev  was  the  author  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  essays,  we  have  done  little  toward  suggest- 
ing the  vast  extent  of  his  literary  range.  There  are  few  fields 
of  human  interest  that  he  has  not  explored,  and  few  periods 
of  human  history  that  he  has  not  investigated,  while  out  of 
his  own  imagination  he  has  created  dream-worlds  wonderful 
beyond  compare.  The  mention  of  only  a few  of  his  master- 
pieces must  here  serve  to  indicate  the  multifariousness  of 
his  contribution  to  English  literature.  Autobiographical  are 
the  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater , the  Autobio- 
graphic Sketches , and  the  Recollections  of  the  Lake  Poets; 
among  the  best  of  the  biographical  essays  are  those  on  Charles 
Lamb , Richard  Bentley , Shakspeare , and  Pope ; The  Revolt  of 
the  Tartars,  The  Ccesars,  Joan  of  Arc,  The  Spanish  Military 
Nun,  and  The  Essenes  are  largely  historical;  Casuistry  is 
ethical,  Protestantism  theological,  and  A Tory’s  Account  of 
Toryism  political;  the  most  noted  of  his  critical  writings  are 
Style,  Rhetoric,  Language,  and  On  Wordsworth’s  Poetry ; while 
he  is  at  his  greatest  in  those  masterpieces  of  prose-poetry  of 
which  the  Suspiria  de  Profundis  and  parts  of  The  English 
Mail-Coach  are  typical  examples.  These  are  but  a few  of 
De  Quincev  s essays;  of  the  multitude  remaining  we  may 
note  that  all  are  of  high  average  excellence,  that  all  show  a 
wealth  of  knowledge  rarely  equalled  in  the  writings  of 
any  other  English  author,  and  that  all  are  clothed  in  that 
striking  style  of  which  De  Quincev  alone  is  master. 

What,  in  conclusion,  may  be  said  of  De  Quineey  s place  in 
our  literature  ? That  it  is  permanent,  no  one  can  deny ; De 
Quincey’s  best  essays  will  always  live  because  of  the  enter- 
tainment and  instruction  thev  afford  the  most  cursorv  reader, 

•/  mr  • 

because  of  the  pleasing  glimpses  they  give  us  of  his  own 
unique  personality,  because  of  their  acute  criticism  of  what 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXV 


men  have  done  and  said  and  written,  because  of  their  imagina- 
tive beauty,  their  genuine  humor  and  pathos,  and  the  precision, 
clearness,  and  melody  of  their  almost  perfect  style.  Inasmuch 
as  De  Quincey  has  no  great  lesson  to  teach  us,  and  rarely 
impresses  us  by  the  strong  originality  of  his  thought,  he  can- 
not, perhaps,  be  placed  among  the  few  supremely  great  of 
the  world's  authors,  but  in  his  own  realm  he  is  king ; his  mas- 
terpieces are  among  those  things  which  the  world  would  not 
willingly  let  die,  and  the  name  of  the  English  Opium-Eater 
will  long  be  held  in  loving  reverence  by  those  whose  delight 
it  is  to  honor  literary  genius. 

IL  Chronological 


At  School  and 
University. 


1785.  — Aug.  15,  Thomas  De  Quincey  born  at 
Manchester;  family  moves  to  “The 
Farm. 1 ’ 

1791.  — Elizabeth,  his  favorite  sister,  dies. 

1792.  - — Family  moves  to  “ Greenhay  ” ; father 

dies ; Thomas  sent  to  school  at  Salford. 
1796.  — Family  moves  to  Bath  ; Thomas  entered 
at  Bath  Grammar  School. 

1799.  — Attends  school  at  Winkfield. 

1800.  — Travels  with  Lord  Westport;  visits 

Laxton ; enters  Manchester  Grammar 
School. 

1802.  — Runs  away  from  school ; in  North  Wales 

and  London. 

1803.  — Enters  Worcester  College,  Oxford. 

1804.  - — First  uses  opium. 

1807.  — Meets  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and 

Southey. 

1808.  - — Leaves  Oxford  ; in  London,  preparing 

. for  the  bar. 


xxvi 


Among  the 
Lakes. 


At  London  and 
Grasmere. 

I 

At  Edinburgh 
and  Grasmere. 


At  Edinburgh.  - 


At  Lasswade 
and  Edinburgh. 


At  Edinburgh 
and  Lasswade. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 

r 1809.  — Takes  up  his  residence  at  Grasmere. 
1813.  — Becomes  a confirmed  opium-eater. 

1816.  — Marries  Margaret  Simpson. 

1817.  — Prostrated  by  use  of  opium. 

1819.  — Becomes  editor  of  Westmoreland  Gazette . 
1821. — Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater 
appears  in  the  London  Magazine. 

' 1824.  — Connection  with  London  Magazine  ends. 
1826. — Begins  contributing  to  Blackwood's 
Magazine. 

! 1827.  — On  Murder  Considered  as  One  of  the 
Fine  Arts. 

> 1830.  — Moves  family  to  Edinburgh. 

1832.  — The  Caesars. 

1834.  — Autobiographic  Sketches  begin  to  appear 

in  Tait's  Magazine. 

1835.  — William,  the  eldest  son,  dies. 

1837.  — The  Revolt  of  the  Tartars  ; wife  dies. 

- 1840.  — Takes  cottage  at  Lasswade. 

1841-1843.  — In  Glasgow. 

1845.  — Suspiria  de  Frofundis. 

1847.  — Joan  of  Arc  ; The  Spanish  Military  Nun. 
- 1849.  — The  English  Mail-Coach  ; first  contribu- 
tion to  Hogg's  Weekly  Instructor. 

1852.  — Takes  lodgings  at  42  Lothian  St.,  and 

begins  work  on  Collective  Edition. 

1853.  — Vol.  I of  Selections , Grave  and  Gay , 

from  Writings  of  Thomas  de  Quincey. 
1857.  — Visits  Ireland. 

1859. — Health  begins  to  decline;  Thursday, 
Dec.  8,  dies  at  42  Lothian  St. ; buried 
in  West  Churchyard,  Edinburgh. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XX  vu 


III.  Rhetorical 

Among  those  qualities  that  we  have  noted  as  securing  for 
De  Quincey's  essays  a permanent  place  in  our  literature,  none 
is  more  striking  than  the  rhetorical  excellence  of  their  style. 
Indeed,  so  skilful  a rhetorician  was  De  Quincey  that  a minute 
treatise  on  style  might  draw  its  illustrations  from  his  writings 
alone.  This  being  true,  a careful  study  of  the  manner  in 
^which  our  author  has  expressed  himself  will  be  both  interest- 
ing and  instructive,  — especially  to  the  student  of  rhetoric. 
It  will  show  us  how  expert  a literary  craftsman  De  Quincey 
was,  and  at  the  same  time,  since  style  is  the  man,  will  give 
us  further  insight  into  the  peculiar  character  of  his  genius. 

In  his  essay  on  Style,  De  Quincey  himself  tells  us  that  the 
matter  and  the  manner  of  a book  are  often  “ inextricably 
interwoven.  ” This  truth  is  strikingly  exemplified  in  his  own 
writings;  consequently,  since  his  matter  is  multifarious,  we 
find  that  his  style  is  widely  diversified.  With  regard  to  their 
purpose,  — and,  of  necessity,  their  contents  as  well,  — De 
Quincey  divided  his  essays  into  three  classes : first,  those 
which  propose  “ primarily  to  amuse  the  reader,”  but  which 
may  at  the  same  time  arouse  in  him  “an  impassioned  inter- 
est”; second,  those  which  “address  themselves  purely  to 
the  understanding  as  an  insulated  faculty,  or  do  so  prima- 
rily”; third,  those  “modes  of  impassioned  prose,”  which, 
“ranging  under  no  precedents”  in  literature,  he  considers  the 
highest  class  of  his  compositions.  Accepting  this  division, 
but  noting  that  the  groups  are  by  no  means  mutually  exclu- 
sive, we  may  say  that  The  Spanish  Military  Nun  belongs  in 
the  first  of  these  classes,  that  Joan  of  Arc  falls  in  the  second, 
and  that  The  English  Mail-Coach , in  part  at  least,  is  one  of 
the  productions  of  the  third  class.  Thus,  in  the  present  vol- 
ume, each  of  the  three  groups  is  represented.  A study  of  De 


xxvii 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


Quincey’s  style,  therefore,  will  be  made  definite  and  at  th& 
same  time  sufficiently  broad  if  limited  to  the  essays  im- 
mediately before  us.  Some  general  observations  concerning 
this  style  may  first  be  made,  and  these  supplemented  by  a 
series  of  exercises  whereby  the  student  may  analyze  more 
minutely  for  himself  De  Quincey's  rhetorical  technique. 

1.  Fundamental  Processes.  — Following  Professor  Ge- 
nung,  we  may  include  under  this  head  “ the  most  impor- 
tant features  of  grammatical  and  rhetorical  combination.” 
With  regard  to  De  Quincey’s  grammar,  Professor  Masson 
says : “ I have  found  no  single  recurring  fault  of  syntax  in 
his  style,  unless  it  be  in  his  sanction  of  a very  questionable 
use  of  the  English  participle.  ” This  fault  is  easily  noticeable 
(“The  steeplechase  . . . had  been  a fine  headlong  thing, 
considering  the  torrent/'  etc.,  p.  176,  11.  23  if.)  and  is,  to  be 
sure,  the  only  “recurring”  one,  but  De  Quincey  errs  occasion- 
ally in  other  matters  syntactical.  The  accuracy  of  “many  a 
gay  creature  was  sporting  that  masqueraded  as  kings  in 
dress”  (p.  17, 11.  29-30),  for  example,  may  well  be  questioned, 
and  had  is  clearly  the  wrong  tense  in  the  sentence,  “But  it 
is  too  probable,”  etc.  (p.  159,  11.  6 ff.).  Nevertheless,  De 
Quincey's  grammar  is  usually  faultless;  in  this  connection 
we  should  note  particularly  his  skill  in  employing  the  “his- 
toric present”  tense,  his  discriminating  use  of  the  subjunc- 
tive mood,  his  careful  distinctions  between  shall  and  will,  and 
his  delightful  avoidance  of  the  “cleft  infinitive.” 

De  Quincey ’s  passion  for  clearness  makes  him  extremely- 
careful  to  place  properly  all  his  words,  phrases,  and  clauses, 
so  that  even  in  his  most  complex  sentences  we  find  little  diffi- 
culty in  determining  which  elements  belong  together.  An 
occasional  error  ( e.g . “and  only  not  good  for  our  age  because 
for  us  it  would  be  unattainable,”  p.  11,  11.  15-16;  “Accord- 
ing to  the  usages  of  the  times  and  country,  Kate  knew  that 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXIX 


within  twelve  hours  she  would  be  assassinated,  ” p.  126, 
il.  13-15)  thus  becomes  all  the  more  noticeable.  He  is 
equally  scrupulous  in  making  clear  any  reference  to  preceding 
or  following  elements,  though  occasional  ambiguities  have 
called  for  attention  in  the  notes.  Here  should  be  mentioned 
De  Quincey 's  fondness  for  the  relative  pronoun  that , which 
he  uses  in  both  coordinative  and  restrictive  senses,  generally 
preferring  it  to  who  or  which  except  when  considerations  of 
euphony  forbid  its  employment. 

Though  his  style  is  not  generally  elliptical,  De  Quincey 
knows  well  the  value  of  omission  and  condensation  as  means 
to  secure  rapidity  of  movement,  colloquial  ease,  and  strength 
of  statement.  On  the  other  hand,  he  does  not  hesitate  to 
repeat  important  words  or  expressions  if  oratorical  volume, 
clearness,  or  emphasis  may  be  secured  thereby.  Especially 
is  this  repetition  frequent  in  his  more  elevated  passages. 
Of  the  various  kinds  of  repetition  employed  by  De  Quincey, 
the  most  characteristic  is  repetition  in  inverse  order;  e.g. 
“ that  sang  together  to  God,  together  that  sang  to  the  genera- 
tions of  man,”  p.  94,  11.  5-6. 

Not  the  least  remarkable  feature  of  De  Quincey ’s  style  is 
the  frequency  with  which  he  departs  from  the  usual  gram- 
matical order  of  sentence  elements,  yet  generally  manages 
to  keep  the  dependence  clear.  Objects  precede  their  verbs 
(“Us  . . . they  overtook,”  p.  94,  11.  7-9),  verbs  precede 
their  subjects  (“Known  is  it  to  the  great  Father  of  All,”  p. 
183,  11.  19-20),  predicate  adjectives  and  adverbial  phrases 
stand  first  in  the  sentence  (“Frightful  was  the  spasm  of  joy,” 
p.  147,  1.  21;  “To  the  port  she  fled,”  p.  128,  11.  17-18). 
Such  inversions  are  most  frequently  used  to  secure  emphasis 
or  to  bring  some  element  of  the  sentence  nearer  to  a corre- 
sponding element  preceding  or  to  follow,  but  are  often  due 
merely  to  De  Quincey’s  love  of  euphony  and  rhythm.  These 


XXX 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


last-named  qualities,  we  may  here  observe,  are  strikingly 
present  in  all  that  De  Quincey  wrote.  “At  a glance  she  com- 
prehended that  the  sea  was  her  only  chance”  (p.  128,  11.  16- 
17)  is  one  of  the  few  examples  of  cacophony  to  be  found  in 
the  present  essays,  while  such  a phrase  as  “From  the  silence 
and  deep  peace  of  this  saintly  summer  night”  (p.  84, 11.  11-12) 
will  show  how  closely  the  rhythm  of  De  Quincey 's  prose 
approaches  at  times  the  rhythm  of  poetry. 

2.  Diction.  — De  Quincey  tells  us  that  the  young  poet 
should  “spend  the  third  part  of  his  life”  in  studying  his 
mother  tongue  and  “cultivating  its  native  resources”;  “he 
should  be  willing  to  pluck  out  his  right  eye  or  to  circumnavi- 
gate the  globe,  if  by-  such  a sacrifice,  if  by  such  an  exertion, 
he  could  attain  to  greater  purity,  precision,  compass,  or  idio- 
matic energy  of  diction.”  We  may  truthfully  say  that  much 
more  than  a third  of  De  Quincey ’s  life  was  spent  in  that 
voluminous  and  varied  reading  which  resulted  in  giving  him 
command  over  a vocabulary  perhaps  the  richest  at  the  dis- 
posal of  any  English  writer  since  Shakespeare.  From  this  wide 
vocabulary  he  was  always  able  to  pick  the  most  fitting  word 
for  his  purpose ; absolute  exactness  is  a marked  character- 
istic of  his  diction.  Even  when  a word  at  first  seems  badly 
chosen,  we  generally  find  that  De  Quincey  has  used  it  in  a 
sense  earlier  and  more  exact  than  that  commonly  accepted. 
The  use  of  words  with  their  primitive  meanings  ( e.g . revolved . 
p.  145,  1.  32;  conceit , p.  169,  1.  32)  is  indeed  almost  a man- 
nerism in  De  Quincey.  Equally  striking  is  his  use  of  unex- 
pected prepositions,  as  in  the  phrases  “ under  some  secret 
conflict”’  (p.  69,  1.  18)  or  “ upon  a sound  from  afar”  (p.  87, 
1.  24) ; sometimes,  indeed,  the  preposition  employed  {e.g.  “in 
the  whole  flowery  people,  ” p.  41, 1.  27)  seems  hardly  to  be  the 
best  one. 

Though  De  Quincey ’s  use  of  words  is  so  remarkably  ex- 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXXI 


act,  it  is  not  always  readily  intelligible  to  the  average  reader, 
since  the  words  themselves  are  drawn  from  all  conceivable 
sources.  Technical , terms  abound;  law,  medicine,  mathe- 
matics, physics,  philosophy,  logic,  heraldry,  music,  surveying, 
astrology,  astronomy,  military  science,  coaching,  the  hunting 
field,  the  race  track  — all  these  are  put  under  contribution 
even  in  the  three  essays  before  us.  Foreign  words  and 
phrases  are  by  no  means  rare.  Slang  “from  Cockney  to 
Oxonian  ” is  frequently  made  use  of,  and  colloquialisms  of  all 
sorts  abound.  Such,  indeed,  was  De  Quincey’s  love  of  “ the 
pure,  racy  idiom  of  colloquial  or  household  English”  that  he 
is  sometimes  betrayed  into  using  it  when  non-idiomatic  dic- 
tion would  be  in  better  taste  {e.g.  “took  after  her  father,” 
p.  7,  1.  6).  On  the  other  hand,  De  Quincey  does  not  hesitate 
to  employ  words  of  a distinctly  bookish  flavor:  Such  are 

prcedial  (p.  15,  1.  4),  cognominated  (p.  72,  1.  5),  vertiginous 
(p.  165,  1.  8),  and  many  others.  Occasionally  he  coins  his 
own  word,  but  does  so  in  a scholarly  way  and  only  for  suffi- 
cient reasons;  diphrelatic  (p.  72,  1.  7)  is  of  his  mintage,  and 
the  note  on  this  word  will  serve  to  show  his  general  attitude 
toward  word-coinage. 

As  a whole,  De  Quincey’s  diction  is  commonly  spoken  of 
as  Latinized,  and  it  is  true  that  in  his  most  characteristic 
passages,  words  of  classic  derivation  occur  in  unusual  abun- 
dance. Such  words,  however,  were  necessary  for  the  exact 
expression  of  his  thoughts ; moreover,  the  classic  element  of 
our  language  is  the  most  “ canorous  ” and  “ long-tailed  words 
in  -osity  and  -ation  ” are  necessary  to  a rhythmical  and  ele- 
vated style.  Nevertheless,  De  Quincey  drew  freely  upon  native 
Anglo-Saxon  sources  when  occasion  demanded,  and  in  the 
more  colloquial  parts  of  The  English  Mail-Coach  and  The 
Spanish  Military  Nun  he  will  be  found  to  employ  a diction 
Saxon  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting.  If,  on  the  whole, 


XXX11 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


he  uses  more  words  of  classic  origin  than  most  other  English 
writers,  it  is  because  of  his  peculiar  needs,  and  not  because  he 
fails  to  appreciate  the  sturdy  strength, of  the  Saxon. 

3.  Figures  of  Speech.  — Endowed  with  a strikingly  rich 
and  imaginative  intellect  and  what  he  himself  calls  “an 
electric  aptitude  for  seizing  analogies,  ” De  Quincey  was  natu- 
rally an  incessant  user  of  figurative  expressions.  These  im- 
press us  chiefly  by  their  seeming  spontaneity ; rarely  or  never 
do  they  smell  of  the  lamp.  In  the  essays  we  are  studying, 
examples  may  be  found  of  every  figure  known  to  the  rhetori- 
cian. Of  these,  metaphors  are  by  far  the  most  numerous, 
especially  when  the  tone  of  the  discourse  is  elevated ; in  the 
more  colloquial  passages  similes  are  frequently  used.  It  is 
interesting  to  note  that  in  these  figures  of  comparison  animals 
play  an  important  part,  at  least  a dozen  different  creatures 
serving  in  the  metaphors  and  similes  of  The  Spanish  Military 
Nun . The  kindred  figures,  synecdoche  and  metonymy, 
though  to  be  found  in  these  essays,  are  rare.  Personifica- 
tion, however,  is,  after  the  metaphor,  De  Quincey ’s  favorite 
figure;  we  may  note  that  he  not  only  personifies  inanimate 
objects,  but  often  ascribes  life  to  abstract  ideas. 

Among  those  figures  that  appeal  most  strongly  to  the 
reader’s  feelings  and  lend  most  life  and  emphasis  to  the  style, 
the  apostrophe  is  De  Quincey’s  favorite  and  the  most  char- 
acteristic of  him;  an  excellent  example  of  its  use  may  be 
found  in  the  opening  paragraph  of  Joan  of  Arc.  Different 
in  character  and  purpose  are  the  pseudo-apostrophies  ad- 
dressed to  the  reader  ( e.g . pp.  132-133)  which  are  employed 
for  their  humorous  effect  or  to  make  the  style  more  collo- 
quial. De  Quincey  knows,  too,  the  various  uses  of  the  excla- 
mation and  the  rhetorical  question.  He  is  at  times  ironical, 
but  De  Quincey’s  irony  is  more  often  good-natured  and 
kindly  than  bitter  or  mordant.  Formal  antithetical  sentences 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  xxxiii 

are  rare  with  him,  and  when  found  are  generally  brief ; but 
antithetical  touches,  as  in  “by  the  traditions  of  the  past  no 
less  than  b}^  the  mementoes  of  the  local  present  ” (p.  14,  11. 
3-4)  are  to  be  met  on  every  page.  While  De  Quincey  ob- 
serves carefully  the  order  of  climax  in  his  paragraphs  and 
essays,  he  arranges  similar  words,  phrases,  and  clauses  with 
a view  to  euphony  quite  as  much  as  to  growth  of  thought; 
note,  for  example,  “to  review,  to  ponder,  to  compare”  (p. 
5,  1.  24).  Though  he  uses  figures  thus  freely,  De  Quincey 
rarely  mixes  his  metaphors;  they  are,  however,  decidedly 
confused  in  the  sentence,  “Dreadful  pecuniary  exhaustion 
. . . feet”  (p.  20,  11.  26-32),  and  are  badly  crowded,  to  say 
the  least,  in  “From  the  silence  . . . voice”  (p.  84, 11.  11-20). 

4.  Sentences.  — De  Quincey ’s  style  is  more  periodic  than 
that  of  any  other  master  of  modern  English  prose.  The  pro- 
portion of  his  periodic  sentences  to  those  of  other  types  is 
very  large;  hardly  a page  can  be  found  that  is  not  sown 
with  periods.  These,  however,  are  rarely  of  excessive  length. 
We  note,  too,  that  he  frequently  secures  periodic  effects  and 
at  the  same  time  avoids  too  great  strain  on  the  reader’s  atten- 
tion by  making  his  sentences  periodic  only  to  a certain  point, 
by  giving  a periodic  form  to  the  component  clauses  of  loose 
sentences,  or  by  becoming  periodic  at  or  near  the  close  of 
his  paragraphs.  Occasionally,  however,  entire  paragraphs 
(e.g.  “I  am  not  . . . Englishmen,”  pp.  5-6)  are  composed 
largely  of  periodic  sentences,  just  as  others  (e.g.  “The  kit- 
ten . . . mendacity,”  pp.  101-102)  contain  no  periods  at 
all. 

Fond  as  he  is  of  periodic  effects,  De  Quincey  generally 
takes  great  care  to  vary  his  sentence  types.  Loose  sentences 
abound.  The  exact  antithetical  balance  of  Macaulay  is  not 
often  met  with,  but  nearly  every  sentence  of  any  length 
shows  careful  parallelism  in  the  wording  of  its  phrases  and 


XXXIV 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


clauses.  Often  several  sentences  in  succession  are  similarly 
constructed.  Short  sentences  are  employed  in  large  nurm 
bers  for  variety  ( e.g . “Such  . . . driving,”  pp.  39-40), 
for  emphasis  (“Bishop  . . . silent,”  pp.  33-35),  or  for 
rapidity  (“St.  Lucar  . . . her ,”  pp.  117-118).  Some- 
times, however,  rapidity  is  secured  by  the  use  of  long  sentences 
composed  of  parts  loosely  joined,  as  in  the  outline  of  Joan's 
career  on  p.  21.  Exclamatory  and  interrogative  sentences 
are  frequently  employed  for  variety,  and  especially  in  the 
more  elevated  passages  are  relied  upon  for  the  expression  of 
extreme  emotion;  see  the  paragraph:  “Lo  . . . founder” 
(pp.  85-86). 

The  charge  sometimes  made  that  De  Quincey's  sentences 
are  often  unduly  long,  complex,  and  crowded,  will  hardly 
be  borne  out  by  our  present  study.  True,  we  can  find  sen- 
tences that  are  heterogeneous  and  involved,  but  they  are 
very  rare.  De  Quincey,  indeed,  shows  a decided  preference 
for  short  sentences,  and  any  momentary  unclearness  of 
structure  is  apt  to  be  due  to  an  unusual  arrangement  of 
parts  rather  than  to  any  great  sentence  length.  But,  as  a 
rule,  the  structure  of  all  De  Quincey's  sentences  should  be 
clear  to  the  average  reader,  if  only  he  be  reasonably  attentive. 

5.  Paragraphs.  — Unity,  continuity,  and  proportion 
are,  we  know,  the  qualities  necessary  to  every  good  para- 
graph; the  second  alone  is  uniformly  to  be  found  in  De 
Quincey.  He  takes  the  greatest  care  that  each  sentence 
shall  grow  out  of  its  predecessor  and  prepare  the  way  for 
other  sentences  to  follow;  conjunctions,  reference  words, 
repetitions,  transitional  phrases,  sentences,  and  clauses  are 
employed  in  profusion.  The  opening  paragraph  of  Joan 
of  Arc  will  give  the  student  an  excellent  idea  of  the  care 
taken  by  De  Quincey  to  make  his  style  “sequacious.”  But 
our  author  was  the  most  digressive  of  all  English  essayists; 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXXV 


unity  and  proportion  are  consequently  lacking  in  a large 
number  of  his  paragraphs.  Sometimes  the  digressions  are 
slight,  as  in  the  paragraph:  “It  is  not  . . . suffer”  (pp.  20- 
21) ; again  they  may  include  practically  the  whole  paragraph, 
as  on  pp.  141-144;  digressions  from  digressions,  as  in  the 
paragraph:  “But  stay  . . . herself  ” (pp.  3-5),  are  not  un- 
common. These  digressions,  however,  as  Professor  Masson 
observes,  “have  a wonderful  knack  of  revolving  to  the  point 
whence  they  set  out,  and  generally  with  a fresh  freight  of 
meaning  to  be  incorporated  at  that  point.”  Rhetorically 
faulty  as  they  are,  annoying  as  we  sometimes  find  them, 
they  are  never  valueless,  and  we  soon  come  to  delight  in 
them,  as  charming  and  characteristic  De  Quinceyisms. 

6.  Qualities  of  Style.  — As  we  have  already  noted, 
clearness  is  one  of  the  marked  qualities  of  De  Quincey's 
style.  He  is  always  at  great  pains  to  make  his  meaning 
self-evident,  to  explain  carefully  the  exact  bearing  of  his 
every  statement  upon  its  fellows.  Some  of  the  ways  in  which 
he  does  this  have  already  been  mentioned.  Another  favor- 
ite means  of  securing  clearness  is  to  quote  specific  cases  in 
illustration  of  any  general  statements  he  may  make;  this 
method,  as  well  as  his  uniform  perspicuity,  may  be  studied 
to  advantage  in  the  opening  paragraphs  of  The  Vision  of 
Sudden  Death , pp.  64-69.  But,  however  clear,  De  Quincey’s 
style  is  not  preeminently  a forceful  one,  in  any  such  way,  at 
^ least,  as  that  in  which  Carlyle’s  is  forceful.  Doubtless  this 
lack  of  strength  is  due  to  the  peculiarly  intellectual  type  of 
De  Quincey’s  genius,  his  inability  to  forget  the  manner  of 
his  writing,  however  great  may  be  his  interest  in  its  matter. 

On  the  other  hand,  this  very  inability  makes  beauty  a 
most  striking  characteristic  of  De  Quincey’s  style.  He  is 
par  excellence  the  great  English  master  of  prose-poetry; 
the  imagery,  the  melody,  and  the  rhythm  of  his  best  passages 


xxxvi 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


are  not  to  be  paralleled  elsewhere  in  our  prose.  When  De 
Quincey  pays  tribute  to  some  Joan  of  Arc,  or  plays  for  us  some 
mystic  Dream-F ugue,  his  lyrical  powers  are  at  their  best,  and 
no  reader  of  the  present  essays  can  fail  to  realize  that  in  his 
feeling  for  the  sublime,  his  imaginative  faculty,  and  his  match- 
less command  over  the  rhythmical  resources  of  the  language, 
De  Quincey  was  more  rarely  endowed  than  many  of  our  most 
noted  poets. 

Among  the  special  qualities  of  style  enumerated  by  rheto- 
ricians, humor  is  the  one  particularly  noticeable  in  all  De 
Quincey’s  essays.  It  is,  however,  a humor  peculiarly  his 
own,  shading  readily  into  wit,  appealing  more  strongly  to 
the  head  than  to  the  heart,  and  rarely,  if  ever,  of  the  large, 
whole-souled  type  that  calls  for  side-splitting  bursts  of 
laughter.  It  is  humor  that  springs  not  from  the  subject 
treated,  but  rather  from  the  author’s  brain.  It  pervades 
all  his  work  and  even  crops  out  at  times  when  good  taste 
would  seem  to  demand  its  suppression.  Indeed,  so  preva- 
lent is  it  in  the  essays  before  us  and  so  characteristic  of  De 
Quincey  that  we  may  take  the  time  to  analyze  it  somewhat 
carefully.  De  Quincey ’s  humor  most  frequently  takes  the 
form  of  a serious  treatment  of  some  trivial  subject  ( e.g . p. 
45)  or  the  introduction  of  trivial  or  ludicrous  particulars 
in  the  midst  of  a serious  discussion  (p.  15).  Again  it  may  be 
due  to  the  sudden  intrusion  of  De  Quincey  himself  into  the 
discourse  (p.  107),  to  some  personal  appeal  of  his  to  the  reader 
(p.  132),  or  to  his  familiar  method  of  addressing  or  referring  to 
some  well-known  character  (p.  104).  Anacronisms  (p.  108), 
impossibilities  (p.  14),  incongruities  (p.  110),  and  hyperbolic 
statements  (p.  46)  are  frequently  relied  upon  for  humorous 
effects.  Sometimes  the  humor  lies  in  a metaphor  or  simile 
(p.  112),  or  perhaps  in  an  epithet  (p.  110).  Again,  we  may 
be  called  upon  to  laugh  at  an  absurd  bit  of  logic  (p.  36)  or  to 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


xxxvii 


follow  out  a line  of  ridiculous  argument  (pp.  43-44).  Occa- 
sionally, De  Quincey's  humor  is  ironical  or  sarcastic  in  tone, 
as  on  pp.  98-100.  Some  of  our  author's  puns  are  referred 
to  in  the  notes;  their  presence  in  his  humorous  passages 
shows  how  purely  intellectual  his  fun-making  is,  and  how 
often  it  is  little  more  than  wit. 

To  humor,  the  twin  quality  is  pathos.  De  Quincey's 
pathos,  however,  unlike  his  humor,  seems  to  issue  directly 
from  the  heart;  it  is  genuine  and  appeals  at  once  to  the 
reader.  Like  his  humor,  it  is  all-pervasive,  and  pathetic 
touches  abound  in  the  present  volume.  Joan  of  Arc  con- 
stantly inspires  De  Quincey  with  pity,  and  he  shows  us  the 
sorrowful  as  well  as  the  sublime  in  her  career.  The  soldier's 
mother  (pp.  62  ff.)  and  the  young  girl  (pp.  80  ff.)  of  The  Eng- 
lish Mail-Coach  are  pathetic  figures  as  De  Quincey  presents 
them  to  us.  But  of  the  characters  appearing  in  these  essays 
it  is  the  Spanish  Military  Nun  of  whom  De  Quincey  is  most 
fond,  and  the  pathetic  tenderness  with  which  he  writes  of  her 
doubtless  arouses  an  answering  sentiment  in  the  heart  of 
every  reader. 

7.  Practical  Exercises.  — The  list  of  rhetorical  exer- 
cises here  given  makes  no  claim  to  completeness;  it  is  in- 
tended to  be  suggestive  merely,  and  is  capable  of  infinite 
expansion. 

(1)  Discuss  the  agreement  of  subject  and  verb  in  the  sen- 
tences: “That  Easter  . . . robbers"  (p.  33,  11.  9-14)  and 
“Consequently  . . . bands"  (p.  110,  11.  22-23). 

(2)  Criticise  the  participial  constructions  in  11.  4-5,  p.  4 ; 11. 
16-17,  p.  21 ; 11. 14-15,  p.  39;  11.  29-30,  p.  53 ; 11.  6-7,  p.  174. 

(3)  Justify  De  Quincey 's  use  of  shall,  will , and  would  in 
the  paragraph:  “Bishop  . . . silent"  (pp.  33-35). 

(4)  Can  you  find  any  examples  of  the  “cleft  infinitive" 
in  the  essays  of  this  volume? 


XXXV lil  INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 

(5)  Test  the  use  of  tenses  in  the  paragraphs:  “Oh!  . . , 
frost ” (pp.  146-148)  and  “All  . . . forgiveness”  (pp.  150- 
151). 

(6)  Why  should  the  subjunctive  mood  be  employed  in 
i.  1,  p.  29;  1.  9,  p.  32;  1.  20,  p.  49?  Why  the  indicative  in 

I.  16,  p.  128?  What  is  the  difference  in  force  between  the 
indicative  and  the  subjunctive  in  11.  10-11,  p.  66,  and  11.  9-10, 

p.  82? 

(7)  Comment  upon  the  order  of  words,  phrases,  and 
clauses  in  the  sentences:  “Gorgeous  . . . her”  (p.  3,  11.  10- 
16);  “But  . . . forms”  (p.  10,  11.  26-29) ; “Yet  . . . one” 
(p.  29,  11.  19-26);  “Once  ...  us”  (p.  47,  11.  6-9);  “Out 
. . . Fanny”  (p.  55,  11.  13-17);  “Ah  . . . wind”  (p.  85, 

II.  16-20);  “Kate’s  . . . recollection”  (p.  119,  11.  21-24); 
“As  . . . frost”  (p.  148,  11.  24-29). 

(8)  Can  you  determine  what  principles  govern  De  Quin- 
cey’s  use  of  who,  which,  and  that ? 

(9)  Is  the  retrospective  reference  clear  in  the  sentences: 
“It  . . . error”  (p.  4,  11.  20-24)  and  “And  . . . death” 
(p.  162,  1.  39-p.  163,  1.  3)  ? 

(10)  Does  De  Quincey  follow  not  by  or,  or  by  nor  ? 

(11)  Study  and  explain  the  varying  intensity  of  the  nega- 
tions found  in  the  paragraph:  “Here  . . . him”'  (pp. 
61-64). 

(12)  What  words  are  omitted  in  11.  8-10,  p.  79;  11.  11-13, 
p.  83;  1.  4,  p.  84;  11.  3-5,  p.  177?  Give  reasons  for  these 
omissions. 

(13)  Point  out  all  repetitions  of  words  and  ideas  in  the 
paragraphs:  “Thus  . . . last”  (pp.  90-93)  and  “That  . . . 
ever!”  (p.  183). 

(14)  Find  examples  of  repetition  in  inverse  order  on  pp. 
33-35. 

(15)  Account  for  the  inversions  found  in  11.  28-30,  p.  56: 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


XXXIX 


11.  11-15,  p.  90;  11.  1-2,  p.  148;  11.  21-23,  p.  158;  11.  8-9,  p. 
170;  11.  13-14,  p.  180. 

(16)  Collate  examples  showing  De  Quincey's  care  for  the 
rhythm  of  his  sentences. 

(17)  Comment  on  the  diction  of  the  sentences:  “ Unless 
. . . broken ” (p.  22,  11.  14-17);  “At  . . . dreams”  (p. 
32,  11.  27-31);  “ These  . . . result”  (p.  36,  11.  12-24); 
“England  . . . democracy”  (p.  39,  11.  12-15);  “Horses! 
. . . leopards?”  (p.  58,  11.  26-27);  “As  . . . goodness” 
(p.  94,  11.  10-20);  “Catalina  . . . you”  (p.  162,  11.  16-20). 

(18)  Make  a list  of  all  the  unfamiliar  words  found  in  the 
essays  of  this  volume  and  learn  the  meaning  of  each. 

(19)  Collate  and  comment  upon  the  words  coined  by  De 
Quincev. 

(20)  Note  all  the  words  that  De  Quincey  employs  in  un- 
usual senses,  and  justify  his  use  of  them. 

(21)  Make  a list  of  the  unexpected  prepositions  used  by 
De  Quincey. 

(22)  Has  De  Quincey  other  favorite  words  besides  those 
mentioned  in  the  notes? 

(23)  How  many  times  is  viz.  used  in  the  present  essays  ? 
Why  is  De  Quincey  so  fond  of  the  word? 

(24)  From  what  different  languages  do  the  foreign  words 
and  phrases  of  these  essays  come?  Is  De  Quincey’s  use  of 
these  foreign  expressions  pedantic? 

(25)  Can  you  find  any  archaic  words  or  forms  in  these 
essays  ? 

(26)  Show  that  De  Quincey’s  diction  is  sometimes  poetic. 

(27)  Collect  and  classify  the  technical  terms  used  by  De 
Quincey. 

(28)  Pick  out  and  explain  the  meaning  of  all  colloquial 
and  idiomatic  expressions  found  on  pp.  117-121  and  pp, 
173-1 76. 


xl 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


(29)  Make  a list  of  all  the  slang  terms  occurring  in  Th 

Spanish  Military  Nun . 

(30)  What  is  the  proportion  of  Anglo-Saxon  wcrds  on  pp. 
26-27;  pp.  93-94;  pp.  128-129?  Why  the  difference? 

(31)  Is  De  Quincey’s  diction  more  or  less  Latinized  than 
that  of  Milton?  of  Bunyan?  of  Swift?  of  Macaulay?  of 
Carlyle  ? of  Ruskin  ? 

(32)  Find  a good  example  of  each  of  the  different  figures 
of  speech  used  by  De  Quincey. 

(33)  Make  a list  of  the  different  animals  referred  to  in  De 
Quincey’s  figures. 

(34)  Point  out  those  figures  that  involve  some  technical 
knowledge  on  De  Quincey’s  part. 

(35)  Point  out  those  due  to  his  knowledge  of  history 
and  geography. 

(36)  Recognize  and  name  all  the  figures  occurring  on  pp. 
1-3 ; pp.  85-87 ; pp.  146-148. 

(37)  Is  De  Quincey ’s  frequent  use  of  italics  justifiable? 

(38)  What  is  the  purpose  of  the  pleonastic  structure  of 
the  sentences:  “This  . . . her”  (p.  2,  11.  25-29);  “The 
famines  . . . chords”  (p.  10,  11.  4-7);  “But  the  forests 
. . . strength”  (p.  12,  11.  6-8);  “The  shepherd  . . . wan- 
dered” (p.  33,  11.  5-9);  “We  . . . indignities?”  (p.  40,  11. 
1-5);  “And  yet  . . . life”  (p.  141,  11.  2-6);  “Potentates 
. . . vain”  (p.  178,  11.  26-27). 

(39)  Explain  the  ellipses  in  the  sentences:  “Yet  . . . 
dies”  (p.  34,  11.  18-19);  “Five  . . . event”  (p.  56,  11.  28- 
30);  “What  . . . forever!”  (p.  58,  11.  27-33);  “Thimble 
. . . her”  (p.  118,  11.  19-20). 

(40)  Criticise  the  structure  of  the  sentences : “ This  . . . 
yours”  (p.  35,  11.  14-16);  “It  seems  . . . piety”  (p.  65. 
11.  28-29);  “As  . . . goodness”  (p.  94,  11.  10-20);  “The 
simple  . . . effort”  (p.  151,  11.  18-25). 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


xli 


(41)  Test  for  unity  the  sentences:  “Joannas?  . . . her- 
self” (p.20,11.16-22);  “Then  . . . children”  (pp.  55-56) ; 
“Yet  . . . mendacity”  (p.  102,  11.  11-22);  “But,  as  . . . 
nun”  (pp.  148-149);  “Suppose  . . . revolting”  (pp.  186“ 
187). 

(42)  What  is  the  average  length  of  the  sentences  on  pp. 
27-28;  pp.  55-56;  pp.  67-68;  pp.  106-107;  pp.  139-140; 
pp.  176-177 ? Why  the  difference? 

(43)  What  is  the  purpose  of  the  short  sentences  on  pp. 
31-32;  pp.  77-78;  pp.  128-130;  pp.  172-173? 

(44)  Account  for  the  use  of  the  exclamatory  and  inter- 
rogative sentences  in  the  paragraphs:  “What  . . . for  ever” 
(pp.  1-3);  “Now  . . . mother”  (pp.  24-26);  “Bishop  . . . 
silent”  (pp.  33-35);  “Passion  . . . horror?”  (p.  85); 
“Then  . . . love!”  (pp.  93-94). 

(45)  What  is  the  proportion  of  periodic  sentences  on  pp. 
8-9;  pp.  59-60;  p.  76;  p.  125;  p.  180?  Why  the  difference  ? 

(46)  Tabulate  the  means  used  by  De  Quincey  for  secur- 
ing suspense. 

(47)  Point  out  all  examples  of  balanced  structure  to  be 
found  on  pp.  2-3;  pp.  24-25;  pp.  32-35;  pp.  90-93;  p.  190. 

(48)  Classify  rhetorically  the  sentences  of  paragraphs: 
“All  . . . broken”  (pp.  21-22) ; “No  . . . authority”  (pp. 
45-46);  “Catalina  . . . battles”  (pp.  155-156). 

(49)  Show  all  the  different  means  used  to  secure  con- 
tinuity in  paragraphs : “But  she  . . . English”  (pp.  22-23); 
“Such  being  . . . driving”  (pp.  39-40);  “Here  . . . 
adore”  (pp.  141-144). 

(50)  Test  the  unity  of  paragraphs:  “As  to  . . . king” 
(pp.  16-18);  “The  mail  coach  . . . construction”  (pp. 
37-39);  “The  modern  „ . . train”  (pp.  49-51) ; “Here  . . . 
anything”  (pp.  111-115);  “There  . . . credulity”  (pp. 
184-185). 


xlii 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


(51)  Find  the  digressions  in  paragraphs:  “But  . . . her* 
self”  (pp.  3-5);  “Here  . . . him ” (pp.  61-64);  “On  . . 
tenderness”  (pp.  98-100). 

(52)  Find  several  whole  paragraphs  of  digression. 

(53)  Make  a list  of  De  Quincey's  puns. 

(54)  Find  additional  examples  of  the  different  types  of 
humor  referred  to  above  (pp.  xxxvi-xxxvii) . 

(55)  Is  the  fun-making  of  pp.  6-7  and  p.  120  in  good 
taste?  Why,  or  why  not? 

(56)  Note  the  most  strikingly  pathetic  passages  in  these 
essays. 

(57)  Which  passages  do  you  consider  the  most  poetic, 
and  which  the  most  eloquent? 

(58)  Note  the  various  points  at  which  the  tone  of  De 
Quincey's  style  changes. 

(59)  What  means  are  used  to  effect  these  changes  of  tone  ? 

(60)  Is  De  Quincey's  style  ever  pedantic,  bombastic,  or 
artificial  ? Why,  or  why  not  ? 

IV.  Creative 

The  essays  contained  in  this  volume  should  not  only 
furnish  the  student  with  material  for  reading,  study,  and 
analysis;  they  should  also  be  made  the  basis  of  original 
creative  work  on  his  own  part.  To  show  how  easily  this 
may  be  done,  a brief  list  of  possible  themes  for  compositions 
is  here  appended. 

1.  The  justice  of  De  Quincey's  criticism  of  Southey's 
Joan  of  Arc. 

2.  The  Joan  of  De  Quincey's  essay  compared  with  the 
Joan  of  Shakespeare's  Henry  VI. 

3.  De  Quincey's  estimate  of  woman's  powers  (p.  27)  a 
correct  one. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


xliii 

4.  The  advantages  of  the  railway  train  over  the  mail- 
coach  as  a means  of  locomotion. 

5.  Why  the  Dream-Fugue  is  so  named. 

6.  The  exact  connection  between  the  Dream-Fugue  and 
The  Vision  of  .Sudden  Death. 

7.  De  Quincey's  sarcastic  account  of  Spanish  pride  and 
laziness  unjustifiable. 

8.  The  probable  justice  of  De  Quincey's  comparison 
between  Kate  and  the  Ancient  Mariner. 

9.  Various  suppositions  as  to  Catalina's  fate. 

10.  The  character  of  Joan  of  Arc  compared  with  that  of 
Catalina  de  Erauso. 

11.  Historic  women  that  have  fought  as  soldiers. 

12.  Why  De  Quincey's  notes  have  been  called  pedantic. 

13.  De  Quincey's  familiarity  with  literature  as  shown  in 
these  essays. 

14.  The  range  and  accuracy  of  De  Quincey's  historical 
knowledge. 

15.  The  facts  these  essays  tell  the  reader  about  De  Quin- 
cey's  life. 

16.  De  Quincey's  personality  as  inferred  from  these  essays. 

17.  De  Quincey’s  feeling  toward  the  French  and  its  causes. 

18.  The  influence  of  the  Bible  on  De  Quincey's  style. 

19.  Reasons  for  preferring  one  of  these  essays  to  the 
others. 

20.  A personal  estimate  of  De  Quincey's  rank  as  an 
essayist. 

V.  Historical 
A.  Joan  of  Arc 

In  his  essay  on  Joan  of  Arc,  De  Quincey  makes  no  at- 
tempt “to  write  the  history  of  La  Pucelle”  ; indeed,  he  pre- 


xliv 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


supposes  a certain  knowledge  of  her  history  on  the  part  of 
the  reader.  To  supply  that  knowledge,  a brief  outline  of  her 
life  is  here  given. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  the  national 
affairs  of  France  were  in  an  extremely  critical  condition. 
Though  the  French  territory  won  by  Edward  III  of  England 
and  the  Black  Prince  had  been  recovered  by  Charles  V (1364- 
1380),  the  incapacity  of  his  successor,  Charles  VI,  had  de- 
stroyed all  hopes  of  immediate  national  unity  and  greatness 
by  delivering  France  as  a prey  to  the  rival  nobles  of  the  court. 
Most  powerful  among  these  were  the  Duke  of  Orleans  and 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  who  soon  plunged  the  country  into 
all  the  horrors  of  a civil  war.  This  moment  Plenry  V of 
England  found  favorable  for  pressing  his  claims  to  the  French 
throne;  entering  Normandy  in  1415  at  the  head  of  an  Eng- 
lish army,  he  met  wTith  resistance  from  the  Orleanists  alone, 
and  by  the  great  victory  of  Agincourt  opened  the  way  to 
an  easy  conquest.  After  pursuing  his  victorious  course  for 
some  years,  he  formed  an  alliance  with  the  Burgundians, 
and  by  the  treaty  of  Troyes  (1420)  was  declared  the  heir  of 
Charles  VI  and  Regent  of  France.  In  1422,  howrever,  both 
Charles  and  Henry  died.  By  the  terms  of  the  treaty  Henry 
VI,  then  only  nine  months  old,  became  joint  ruler  of  the  two 
kingdoms;  his  uncle,  John  of  Bedford,  wTas  appointed  his 
regent  in  France  and  at  once  urged  forward  the  conquest 
of  such  French  provinces  as  refused  to  acknowledge  the 
English  sovereignty. 

Meanwhile  the  Orleanists,  or  Armagnacs  as  the  y were 
generally  called,  into  whose  hands  the  dauphin  Charles,  only 
surviving  son  of  Charles  AT,  had  fallen,  offered  but  a feeble 
resistance  to  the  Anglo-Burgundian  advance.  Charles  him- 
self, then  twenty  years  old,  was  weak,  dissolute,  and  a 
coward;  the  leaders  of  his  party  were  mostly  adventurers 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  xlv 

who  thought  only  of  their  private  interests  and  carried  on 
a merely  desultory  warfare  against  the  English.  By  1428 
practically  all  France  north  and  east  of  the  Loire  owned 
Henry  as  king,  while  by  no  means  all  the  southern  provinces 
remained  loyal  to  Charles.  Anxious  to  complete  their  con- 
quest and  put  an  end  to  the  struggle,  the  English,  in  October, 
1428,  invested  Orleans,  the  key  to  the  South.  It  was  just 
at  this  critical  moment  that  Joan  of  Arc  entered  upon  her 
career  of  victory  and  of  suffering. 

At  Domremy,  in  the  valley  of  the  Meuse  between  Cham- 
pagne and  Lorraine,  Joan  was  born  in  the  year  1412,  the 
fourth  child  of  James  of  Arc  and  Isabel  of  Youthon.  Her 
birthplace  seems  to  have  been  a part  of  the  Duchy  of  Bar 
rather  than  of  Lorraine  or  Champagne,  but  whatever  its 
territorial  relations,  its  inhabitants  were  all  loyal  supporters 
of  Charles  and  his  cause.  Here  Joan  learned  to  spin  and  to 
sew,  to  perform  the  duties  of  the  household,  and  to  watch 
over  her  father's  docks.  Her  childhood  was  in  no  wise  un- 
like that  of  her  friends  and  playmates,  save  that  she  was 
noted  throughout  the  village  for  her  charity  and  religious 
zeal.  Not  until  she  had  reached  her  thirteenth  year  was  she 
singled  out  from  among  her  fellows;  one  summer's  day, 
when  alone  in  her  father's  garden,  she  beheld  a great  light  and 
in  the  midst  saw  the  Archangel  Michael  surrounded  by  other 
angels.  Similar  visions  followed  at  intervals  during  three 
years.  In  these  St.  Margaret  and  St.  Catherine  also  ap- 
peared, by  whom  she  was  bidden  to  save  France.  At  last 
the  commands  of  the  saints  became  more  definite;  Joan 
must  go  to  Yaucouleurs  and  ask  Baudricourt,  its  commander, 
to  send  her  to  the  dauphin ; she  must  conduct  him  to  Rheims 
and  see  him  made  king;  then  she  must  drive  the  English 
out  of  France. 

In  January,  1429,  Joan  and  Durand  Laxart,  her  cousin, 


xlvi 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


made  their  way  to  Vaucouleurs.  At  first  Baudricourt  gavt 
the  maid  but  a cold  reception ; she  needed  to  be  whipped,  he 
thought.  The  people  of  the  town  believed  in  her,  however, 
and  finally  Baudricourt,  giving  her  a small  escort  and  a letter 
to  the  king,  sent  her  on  her  way  to  Chinon,  where  Charles 
was  then  holding  his  court.  Arrived  here,  Joan  was  first 
examined  by  various  clerks  and  priests;  not  until  several 
days  later  was  she  allowed  a royal  audience  in  the  great  hall 
of  the  palace.  As  she  entered,  the  king  drew  aside,  thinking 
to  test  her  miraculous  powers,  but  she  knew  him  at  once  and 
announced  to  him  her  divinely  appointed  mission.  For  days 
Charles  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  avail  himself  of  Joan's 
aid ; he  had  her  examined  by  his  priests  and  monks,  then  sent 
her  to  the  university  town  of  Poictiers  to  undergo  further 
examination  as  to  her  orthodoxy.  She  emerged  victorious 
from  these  tests,  but  was  obliged  to  wait  some  weeks  before 
an  army  could  be  raised  to  relieve  Orleans.  Meanwhile  she 
wrote  a letter  to  the  English,  demanding  the  surrender  of  all 
French  cities  held  by  them;  had  made  for  herself  a banner 
sown  with  lilies  and  bearing  a picture  of  God  seated  upon 
the  clouds  ; and  sent  to  the  church  of  St.  Catherine  of  Fier- 
bois  for  an  old  sword  which  she  had  never  seen  but  which 
was  found  in  the  place  described  by  her.  At  length,  on 
April  25,  she  joined  the  French  army  at  Blois;  and  the 
march  toward  Orleans  was  begun. 

This  city,  the  possession  of  which  was  so  important  to 
Charles,  had  been  besieged  by  the  English,  as  we  have  seen, 
since  October,  1428.  An  expedition  sent  to  its  relief  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1429,  had  been  intercepted  and  defeated  by  the  Eng- 
lish, so  that  the  city  was  now  in  great  straits,  though  much 
encouraged  by  news  of  the  coming  of  the  miraculous  maid. 
On  April  29  Joan  entered  Orleans  and  was  received  with  great 
rejoicing;  the  army,  which  had  lost  time  by  first  approach- 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


xlvil 


mg  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  Loire,  followed  her  on  May  4, 
the  English  offering  no  opposition  to  their  entrance.  Once 
within  the  city,  Joan  counselled  immediate  action,  especially 
since  the  English  expected  the  arrival  of  reenforcements  at 
any  moment.  The  French  generals,  on  the  contrary,  fav- 
ored delay  and  the  exercise  of  great  caution ; but  the  maid  so 
impressed  them  by  her  supreme  confidence  in  herself  that  at 
last  she  was  allowed  to  have  her  way.  By  Sunday,  May  8, 
the  English  had  been  driven  from  their  forts,  and 
Talbot  with  all  his  troops  was  retreating  rapidly  down  the 
Loire. 

Joan  now  wished  to  take  advantage  of  the  English  dis- 
couragement and  march  directly  to  Rheims ; the  royal  coun- 
cil, however,  was  divided  into  rival  factions  and  could 
decide  upon  no  course  of  action.  At  last  it  was  determined 
to  attack  the  English  forts  along  the  Loire  before  proceeding 
farther,  and  the  Duke  of  Alencon  was  given  command  of  the 
army.  The  fortress  of  Jargeau,  twelve  miles  above  Orleans, 
was  taken  on  June  12;  three  days  later  the  French  marched 
down  the  river  past  Orleans  and  captured  Meung.  Talbot 
then  united  all  the  English  forces  at  Beaugency,  hoping  to 
defend  this  town  until  the  arrival  of  Fastolf  with  reinforce- 
ments from  Paris,  which  he  himself  went  forward  to  meet. 
The  relief  did  not  come  in  time,  however,  for  Talbot  and  Fas- 
tolf reached  Meung  just  as  the  city  surrendered,  June  18. 
The  English  then  decided  to  retreat  upon  Janville,  some 
twenty-five  miles  to  the  north.  At  Pat  ay,  twelve  miles  from 
Meung,  finding  themselves  unable  to  go  farther  without 
fighting,  they  halted  and  gave  battle  to  their  pursuers.  The 
French  victory  here  was  complete ; the  English  were  utterly 
routed  and  few  of  them  escaped  being  either  killed  or  cap- 
tured. With  the  surrender  of  Janville,  the  campaign  of  the 
Loire  was  ended,  and  the  country  between  Paris  and  Orleans 


xlviii 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


was  free  from  English,  though  they  still  held  several  forts 
higher  up  the  Loire.  To  the  rapidity  of  the  French  move- 
ments  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  French  soldiers,  this  result 
was  due,  and  for  both  these  Joan  had  been  largely  responsible. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  campaign  the  maid  hastened  to 
Sully,  where  Charles  was  holding  his  court,  and  urged  that  he 
set  out  instantly  for  Rheims.  As  usual,  however,  the  royal 
council  advised  delay,  declaring  it  folly  to  think  of  marching 
through  a hostile  country  full  of  fortified  towns.  But  Joan’s 
entreaties  finally  won  the  day  and  an  advance  was  decided 
upon.  After  further  delay  in  determining  the  proper  route 
to  follow,  the  march  to  Rheims  was  begun  on  June  30.  On 
July  5 the  army  camped  about  Troyes,  the  capital  of  Cham- 
pagne, wdiich  refused  to  surrender  to  the  dauphin.  The 
council  was  opposed  to  a siege,  some  wishing  to  pass  by  the 
town,  others  to  return  home.  Joan  promised  to  capture  the 
place  within  three  days  and  was  allowed  to  make  the  at- 
tempt, but  so  vigorous  were  her  preparations  for  the  siege 
that,  on  July  9,  Troyes  surrendered  without  having  struck 
a blow.  On  the  day  following  its  entrance  into  Troyes,  the 
French  army  advanced  upon  Chalons.  This  town  threw 
open  its  gates  to  receive  the  dauphin ; two  days  later,  Rheims 
did  likewise;  and  on  Saturday,  Jufy  16,  Charles  and  Joan 
together  entered  the  city  of  kings.  On  Sunday,  July  17, 
1429,  Charles  VII  was  duly  crowned  and  consecrated  King 
of  France  according  to  ancient  custom,  all  the  appointed 
ceremonies  being  carefully  observed.  Throughout  the  ser- 
vice Joan  stood  close  to  the  king,  holding  her  banner  in  her 
hands ; when  he  had  been  crowned,  she  knelt  down  at  his  feet, 
weeping  vehemently.  The  story  that  she  now  declared  her 
mission  ended  and  asked  permission  to  return  to  Domremy 
seems  to  be  a mere  legend  lacking  historical  support.  The 
English  had  not  yet  been  driven  from  France,  and  though  her 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  xlix 

voices”  no  longer  gave  definite  instructions,  they  still  com- 
manded Joan  to  proceed. 

Charles  having  been  crowned,  the  part  of  wisdom  was  to 
march  at  once  on  Paris  and  drive  out  its  Anglo-Burgundian 
garrison  before  John  of  Bedford  could  raise  a new  army  to 
prevent  the  French  attack.  Such  a march  was  begun, 
however,  only  after  much  delay,  and  even  then  the  advance 
was  slow  and  tortuous  — greatly  to  'Joan’s  disgust.  The 
royal  council,  again  the  cause  of  all  this  procrastination,  was 
more  anxious  to  arrange  a truce  with  Philip  of  Burgundy 
than  to  take  Paris.  Meanwhile  Bedford  had  gathered  to- 
gether fresh  troops  with  which,  at  Montepilloy,  August  14, 
he  was  able  to  check  the  French  advance.  Charles  there- 
upon retired  to  Compikgne,  where  he  was  but  little  nearer 
Paris  than  at  Rheims.  The  maid,  however,  unable  to  en- 
dure such  vacillation,  continued  to  march  forward  at  the 
head  of  a considerable  force,  and  on  August  25,  with  the  aid 
of  the  Duke  of  Alengon,  captured  St.  Denis,  just  outside  of 
Paris.  Here  she  waited  for  Charles  to  join  her,  but  instead 
of  the  king  there  came  news  that  on  August  28  a truce  be- 
tween the  French  and  the  Burgundians  had  been  agreed 
upon.  Fortunately,  however,  Paris  was  not  included  in  the 
truce,  and  Charles  was  at  liberty  to  besiege  this  city.  Not 
until  September  8,  however,  did  he  unite  his  forces  with 
Joan’s  at  St.  Denis,  and  before  he  allowed  the  maid  to  attack 
Paris  he  had  already  made  definite  arrangements  to  abandon 
the  campaign.  The  first  assault,  on  September  8,  was  re- 
pulsed, so,  without  making  any  further  attempt  to  capture 
the  city,  Charles  ordered  his  forces  to  retreat  across  the 
Loire.  This  retreat  was  much  more  rapid  than  the  ad- 
vance had  been;  in  eight  days  the  French  reached  Gien,  on 
the  Loire,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  distant  from  St. 
Denis,  and  here  the  army  was  rapidly  disbanded. 


1 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


In  spite  of  the  reverses  just  suffered  by  the  French  cause* 
Joan  was  still  anxious  to  fight.  Willing  to  gratify  her  desire, 
the  king  and  his  council  raised  a small  force  during  the  month 
of  October  and  allowed  Joan  to  proceed  against  St.  Pierre  le 
Moustier  and  La  Charite,  two  towns  on  the  Burgundian 
frontier,  of  little  importance  to  either  party.  St.  Pierre 
fell  on  November  1 ; La  Charite  was  besieged  for  a month, 
but  the  siege  was  finally  abandoned  for  lack  of  means  to 
carry  it  on.  Joan  then  joined  the  king  at  Mehun,  where  she 
remained  inactive  until  February,  1430,  all  the  while  asking 
nothing  better  than  permission  to  fight  the  English,  and 
receiving  instead  from  the  royal  court  only  a patent  of  no- 
bility for  herself  and  her  family.  In  March  she  accompanied 
the  king  to  Sully,  where  she  was  to  wait  for  the  ending  of 
the  truce  with  the  Burgundians  at  Easter.  Soon,  however, 
she  grew  weary  of  the  life  here,  and  early  in  April  left  the 
court  without  the  knowledge  of  the  king  or  his  council, 
probably  joining  some  band  of  soldiers  on  their  way  north- 
ward. While  waiting  at  Melun  for  Easter  to  come,  she  was 
warned  by  her  voices  that  she  would  be  captured  before 
St.  John’s  Day,  June  24. 

When  the  truce  was  at  last  ended,  Philip  of  Burgundy 
recommenced  hostilities  by  preparing  to  lay  siege  to  Com- 
piegne, a walled  city  on  the  Oise  some  fifty  miles  north  of 
Paris.  As  a first  step  he  besieged  Choisv,  six  miles  distant. 
Hearing  of  this,  Joan  hastened  to  Compiegne.  After  she 
and  the  French  captains  had  made  several  ineffective  at- 
tempts to  relieve  the  siege  of  Choisv,  that  town  surrendered 
(May  20),  and  the  fall  of  Compiegne  seemed  inevitable.  On 
May  23  a sally  against  the  Anglo-Burgundian  forces  was 
determined  upon;  this  sally  Joan  prepared  to  lead.  At 
four  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  she  and  her  small  party  issued 
forth  and  fierce  fighting  at  once  ensued.  The  French. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


li 


greatly  outnumbered,  were  soon  driven  back  to  the  city  in 
wild  confusion,  closely  pursued  by  the  Burgundians.  Flavy, 
the  commander  of  Compiegne,  fearing  that  the  enemy  might 
effect  an  entrance,  closed  the  barriers  of  the  boulevard  lead- 
ing to  the  town  before  Joan  and  a few  others  had  reached 
them.  Left  almost  alone,  the  maid  was  quickly  surrounded 
by  her  enemies,  dragged  from  her  horse  by  a Picard  archer, 
and  claimed  as  his  prisoner  by  Lionel  of  Wandonne. 

According  to  the  rules  of  war  as  then  observed,  Joan 
belonged  to  her  captor ; but  Wandonne  seems  to  have  shared 
his  ownership  with  John  of  Luxemburg,  commander  of  the 
corps  in  which  Lionel  was  a captain.  She  was  at  once  sent 
to  Beaulieu,  one  of  Luxemburg's  strongholds,  for  safe-keep- 
ing. To  her  captors  she  was  only  a piece  of  property  to  be 
sold  to  the  highest  bidder;  but  to  the  English  she  would 
be  an  invaluable  prize.  The  latter,  therefore,  fearing  lest 
Charles  might  make  some  attempt  to  ransom  her,  immedi- 
ately hastened  to  get  Joan  in  their  own  possession.  Pierre 
Cauchon,  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  was  chosen  as  their  agent 
to  buy  her  from  the  Burgundians.  He  secured  letters  from 
the  University  of  Paris,  demanding  that  she  be  turned  over 
to  him  as  a witch;  on  behalf  of  King  Henry  he  offered 
£10,000  for  her  delivery.  After  some  haggling  the  bargain 
was  made,  and  as  soon  as  the  English  had  succeeded  in 
raising  the  purchase  money,  Joan  was  turned  over  to  them 
(November,  1430),  Charles  VII  having  made  no  effort  to 
ransom  or  rescue  her. 

Meanwhile,  Joan  herself  had  been  kept  for  some  weeks 
in  the  castle  of  Beaulieu,  from  which  she  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  escape,  and  had  then  been  taken  to  Beaurevoir, 
another  and  stronger  castle  belonging  to  Luxemburg.  At 
both  places  she  seems  to  have  been  cruelly  treated.  Finally, 
worn  out  by  confinement  and  insult,  sick  at  heart  over  the 


lii 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


news  that  Compiegne  was  about  to  be  taken  by  tne  Burgur* 
dians,  and  fearful  lest  she  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English, 
Joan  disobeyed  her  voices  for  the  first  time  and  threw  her- 
self from  the  tower  at  Beaurevoir,  hoping  either  to  escape  or 
to  end  her  life.  She  wras  badly  shaken  but  not  otherwise 
injured  by  the  fall,  so  that  the  Burgundians  were  able  to 
deliver  their  property  to  the  English  in  good  condition. 

For  some  time  Joan's  new  owners  could  not  decide  whether 
to  treat  her  as  a prisoner  of  war  or  as  a witch.  Urged  on  by 
the  University  of  Paris,  they  at  last  agreed  to  turn  her  over 
to  the  church  for  trial ; only  by  proving  her  an  agent  of  the 
devil  could  they  nullify  the  coronation  of  Charles.  In  De- 
cember, 1430,  she  was  removed  to  Rouen  and  there  delivered 
up  to  Cauchon,  now  acting  as  the  representative  of  the 
church. 

An  ecclesiastical  trial  of  the  fifteenth  century  ordinarily 
consisted  of  two  parts : first,  an  inquest  or  gathering  of 
evidence  against  the  accused,  so  that  an  indictment  might 
be  drawn  up ; second,  the  trial  proper  of  the  accused  on  the 
charges  contained  in  the  indictment.  The  first  part  of  Joan's 
trial  began  with  a preliminary  meeting  of  the  court  in  the 
royal  council  chamber  at  Rouen,  on  January  9,  1431.  At 
this,  as  at  all  the  subsequent  meetings,  Cauchon  did  not  sit 
alone  in  judgment;  the  number  of  ecclesiastics  forming  ais 
court  varied  greatly,  however,  sometimes  as  many  as  forty 
being  present,  again  only  five  or  six.  At  first  the  sessions 
of  the  court  were  held  in  the  council  chamber  of  the  royal 
castle,  but  later  Joan  was  usually  examined  before  a small 
committee  in  her  cell ; at  first,  too,  there  was  some  show  of 
fairness  about  the  trial,  since  Cauchon  believed  that  he  should 
have  no  difficulty  in  proving  Joan's  guilt,  but  he  soon  found 
it  necessary  to  resort  to  the  most  iniquitous  methods  in  order 
to  accomplish  his  purpose.  During  the  course  of  the  trial, 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


1111 

Joan  was  not  allowed  to  hear  mass  or  enjoy  spiritual  conso- 
lation of  any  kind.  She  was  kept  all  the  while  in  the  com- 
mon prison  of  Rouen,  heavily  ironed  and  constantly  exposed 
to  insults  and  indignities.  Worse  still,  she  was  exposed 
to  treachery,  for  a pretended  friend  was  sent  to  her  cell  to 
secure  her  confidences,  and  she  was  regularly  watched  over 
and  listened  to  by  concealed  spies. 

At  the  second  meeting  of  the  court,  held  on  January  13, 
a committee  was  chosen  to  digest  such  evidence  as  had 
already  been  collected  against  Joan,  so  that  the  court  might 
determine  what  lines  the  inquest  should  follow.  This  task 
occupied  the  committee  for  ten  days;  other  preparations 
consumed  more  time;  and  it  was  not  until  February  21  that 
Joan  was  summoned  to  appear  before  the  court.  Into  the 
details  of  her  examination  at  this  and  the  subsequent  ses- 
sions of  the  court  there  is  no  need  to  enter ; suffice  it  to  say 
that  by  shrewd  answers  or  wise  silence  she  skilfully  avoided 
the  traps  laid  for  her  by  the  examiners.  The  general  nature 
of  the  questions  asked  her  may  readily  be  surmised  if  we 
enumerate  a few  of  the  different  charges  on  which  her  judges 
wished  to  find  her  indictable,  and  on  which  their  interroga- 
tions bore : she  had  communed  with  evil  spirits,  practised 
magic,  ascribed  supernatural  virtue  to  her  sword  and  banner, 
followed  an  unwomanly  career  in  man’s  clothes,  attacked 
Paris  on  the  Feast  of  the  Annunciation,  attempted  her  own 
life  at  Beaurevoir,  allowed  people  to  worship  her,  pretended 
to  work  miracles,  etc.  The  first  part  of  her  trial  lasted 
until  March  18,  the  court  having  met  almost  daily  and  having 
examined  Joan  at  every  meeting ; her  evidence,  after  being 
read  to  her  and  acknowledged  by  her,  was  turned  over  to 
Estivet,  the  prosecuting  attorney,  that  he  might  prepare  an 
indictment. 

On  March  27  Joan  was  called  before  the  court  to  hear  the 


Iiv 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


indictment  that  had  been  drawn  up  against  her.  Thu 
document  contained  no  less  than  seventy  counts,  or  charges, 
to  each  of  which  in  turn  Joan  was  required  to  answer.  At 
times  she  replied  with  great  skill  and  discrimination  ; again 
she  would  refer  the  judges  to  her  previous  evidence  or  de- 
clare that  she  left  the  whole  matter  to  God.  As  it  was  im- 
possible with  even  a semblance  of  fairness  to  find  her  guilty 
on  all  the  counts,  Cauchon  reduced  the  seventy  articles  to 
twelve,  of  which  the  most  important  were  those  relating  to 
her  belief  in  her  saintly  visitors,  her  unwillingness  to  discard 
her  male  garb,  and  her  refusal  to  submit  her  life  and  deeds  to 
the  judgment  of  the  church.  On  May  19  the  court,  largely 
influenced  by  letters  received  from  the  University  of  Paris, 
was  inclined  to  pronounce  Joan  guilty  of  the  crimes  charged 
against  her  in  these  twelve  articles,  but  gave  her  a final 
opportunity  to  submit  to  the  church  before  sentence  should 
be  passed  upon  her.  This  submission  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais 
took  good  care  to  prevent,  and  Joan  was  condemned  to  be 
turned  over  to  the  lay  tribunal  — in  other  words,  to  die. 

Hitherto  Cauchon,  determined  that  the  court  should  find 
Joan  guilty,  had  seen  to  it  that  she  should  not  repent  of  her 
resolution  not  to  change  her  style  of  dress  and  not  to 
submit  to  the  church;  now  that  she  had  been  condemned 
such  repentance  was  no  longer  undesirable,  but  was  even 
necessary  in  order  that  she  appear  to  the  world  a self-con- 
fessed witch  and  heretic.  On  May  24,  therefore,  the  maid 
was  taken  from  her  cell  to  the  cemetery  of  St.  Ouen,  to  hear 
sentence  publicly  pronounced  upon  her.  She  was  placed 
upon  a platform  in  the  midst  of  the  immense  crowd ; near  by 
was  the  executioner  with  his  cart,  prepared  to  take  charge 
of  her  when  the  sentence  should  have  been  read.  After 
listening  to  a long  sermon,  Joan  was  once  more  called  upon  to 
submit  her  words  and  deeds  to  the  judgment  of  the  church; 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lv 


thus  only  could  she  escape  death.  At  first  she  refused,  nor 
would  she  renounce  her  masculine  apparel  as  she  was  urged 
to  do.  Reluctantly  Cauchon  began  to  read  her  sentence, 
while  the  priests  crowded  around  her,  begging  her  to  submit 
and  to  agree  to  change  her  dress.  Suddenly  a paper  was 
thrust  into  her  hands  and  she  was  almost  forced  to  sign  it. 
What  it  was  she  really  signed  can  never  be  known ; Joan 
herself  believed  that  she  was  only  promising  to  put  on  a 
woman’s  dress  and  to  submit  to  the  church.  At  all  events, 
her  enemies  chose  to  consider  that  she  had  recanted,  and 
Cauchon  now  pronounced  a new  sentence  whereby  she  was 
condemned  to  imprisonment  for  life.  The  English  were 
enraged  with  the  Bishop  for  allowing  Joan  thus  to  escape 
him,  but  his  schemes  were  deeper  and  darker  than  they 
imagined ; having  made  Joan  ruin  her  reputation  by  recant- 
ing, he  knew  he  could  take  her  life  whenever  he  chose. 

The  maid,  having  been  led  back  to  prison,  was  there  sub- 
jected to  indignities  far  worse  than  she  had  formerly  suffered; 
she  was  prostrated,  too,  by  remorse  over  her  abjuration.  Ex- 
actly why,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  within  two  days  she 
had  resumed  her  masculine  garments  — just  as  Cauchon 
had  intended  that  she  should.  She  also  claimed  to  have 
heard  her  voices  again  and  persisted  in  believing  that  they 
were  those  of  St.  Catherine  and  St.  Margaret.  Nothing 
more  was  needed;  on  Tuesday,  May  29,  the  court  voted 
that  Joan  was  a relapsed  heretic  and  should  be  turned  over 
to  the  lay  tribunal,  — which  always  punished  with  death  by 
burning  such  persons  as  the  ecclesiastics  delivered  to  it. 

At  nine  o’clock  on  the  morning  of  May  30,  1431,  Joan  of 
Arc  was  led  through  the  streets  of  Rouen,  clothed  in  a long 
black  robe,  and  wearing  on  her  head  a mitre  bearing  the 
words,  “ Heretic,  relapsed,  apostate,  idolater.”  When  the 
Old  Market  had  been  reached,  she  was  placed  upon  a platform 


Ivi 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


there  and  again  caused  to  listen  to  a long  sermon.  She 
was  then  turned  over  to  the  executioner,  who  conducted  hei 
to  a scaffold  about  which  faggots  of  wood  had  been  piled.  As 
she  passed  through  the  crowd  she  begged  the  priests  to  say 
masses  for  her  soul,  and  as  she  ascended  the  scaffold  she 
asked  for  a cross,  which  she  placed  in  her  bosom.  A crucifix 
also  having  been  brought  her,  she  kissed  and  embraced  it 
while  she  was  being  bound  to  the  stake.  When  the  flames 
had  at  last  been  lighted,  she  urged  the  monk  at  her  side  to 
descend,  and  then  begged  him  to  hold  up  the  crucifix  where 
she  could  still  see  it.  Thus  she  died,  the  crucifix  before  her 
eyes  and  a prayer  upon  her  lips. 

After  Joan's  execution  the  war  dragged  on  somewhat 
listlessly  until  1435,  when  the  treaty  of  Arras  was  agreed 
upon  between  the  French  and  the  Burgundians;  by  it  the 
crown  was  effectually  secured  for  Charles.  A series  of  French 
victories  next  forced  the  English,  in  1444,  to  agree  to  a truce. 
In  1449  war  again  broke  out  and  by  1450  Charles  had  con- 
quered all  northern  France  except  Calais.  The  official  rec- 
ords of  Joan's  trial  had  thus  come  into  his  possession  and  he 
was  anxious  to  reverse  that  judgment  whereby  he  was  de- 
clared to  have  been  crowned  through  the  aid  of  the  devil.  It 
was  not,  however,  until  1455  that  the  Pope,  Calixtus  III, 
gave  permission  to  reopen  Joan's  case  and  review  the  course 
of  her  trial.  Witnesses  were  examined  at  Domremv,  Yau- 
couleurs,  Orleans,  and  Rouen,  one  hundred  and  fifty  deposi- 
tions being  taken-  in  all.  After  reviewing  this  evidence 
carefully,  the  judges,  on  July  7,  1456,  pronounced  sentence 
in  the  grealTiall  of  the  archbishop's  palace  at  Rouen  to  the 
effect  that  Joan's  trial  had  been  unfairly  conducted;  that 
all  matters  connected  with  the  proceedings,  the  sentence, 
and  the  execution,  were  therefore  declared  null,  invalid,  and 
void;  and  that  Joan  and  her  family  should  thenceforth  be 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lvii 


held  absolutely  cleared  from  all  stains  or  marks  of  infamy. 
So,  from  political  motives,  the  party  that  had  done  nothing 
to  save  her  while  living,  at  last  did  tardy  justice  to  the  mem- 
ory of  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

B.  Catalina  de  Erauso 

Quite  early  in  his  story  of  The  Spanish  Military  Nun , De 
Quincey  takes  care  to  impress  upon  the  reader  that  “this  is 
no  romance,  or  at  least  no  fiction”;  throughout  the  story 
he  makes  frequent  reference  to  Catalina’s  memoirs  and  the 
French  reporter  of  them;  and  in  the  postscript  of  1854, 
which  replaced  a much  briefer  introductory  paragraph  in 
Tait  for  May,  1847,  he  gives  some  account  of  his  sources 
and  discusses  their  probable  authenticity.  But  De  Quincey 
never  saw  the  memoirs  himself,  and  is  purposely  inaccurate 
and  secretive  in  his  postscript.  Let  us  see,  then,  what  facts 
are  really  known  concerning  Catalina  de  Erauso  and  how 
De  Quincey  came  to  write  about  her;  that  such  a person 
once  actually  existed,  there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt. 

The  chief  source  of  the  world’s  knowledge  concerning  Cata- 
lina is  her  memoirs.  These  she  began  to  write  in  the  year 
1624,  but  they  were  not  published  until  early  in  the  nine- 
teenth century.  M.  Ferrer,  a native  of  Guipuzcoa,  in 
Spain,  chanced  to  read,  in  1815,  among  the  manuscripts  in 
the  possession  of  D.  Felipe  Bauza,  keeper  of  the  Marine 
Archives  at  Madrid,  a copy  of  these  memoirs,  which  had  been 
transcribed  from  a manuscript  in  the  Royal  Academy  of 
History,  this  in  turn  having  been  copied  in  1784  from  a 
manuscript  volume  owned  by  the  Spanish  poet,  Trigueros. 
This  “romance  of  cape  and  sword,”  for  such  he  supposed 
it,  made  a strong  impression  on  M.  Ferrer,  especially  since 
the  heroine  had  been  born  in  his  own  province  and  since  he 


Iviii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 

himself  had  served  in  Peru.  In  the  political  excitement  ol 
the  times,  however,  he  soon  forgot  all  about  the  Military 
Nun.  Several  years  later,  while  a refugee  in  Paris,  he  came 
across  a brief  account  of  Catalina’s  life  and  exploits  in  the 
History  of  the  Life  and  Times  of  Philip  III , by  Gil  Gon- 
zales Davila.  The  idea  that  the  nun  might  be  a genuine 
historical  character  caused  his  old  interest  to  return  with 
redoubled  force.  He  at  once  procured  a copy  of  the  memoirs 
that  he  had  formerly  read,  and  for  many  years  pursued  the 
most  minute  historical  researches  in  order  to  verify,  if  pos- 
sible, the  statements  there  made.  Contemporary  references, 
parish  registers,  state  documents  — among  them  certificates 
from  Catalina’s  commanders,  her  petition  to  the  king,  his 
reply,  and  the  order  for  her  pension  — all  these  proofs, 
together  with  an  actual  portrait  of  the  Nun-Lieutenant,  con- 
vinced M.  Ferrer  of  the  substantial  accuracy  of  Catalina’s 
memoirs.  To  be  sure,  he  could  hardly  explain,  for  instance, 
why  the  parish  register  should  give  the  date  of  Catalina’s 
birth  as  1592  when  she  herself  claimed  to  have  been  born  in 
1585;  how  she  could  have  taken  part  in  the  battle  of  Val- 
divia (1606)  at  the  very  time  when  the  convent  records 
showed  her  to  have  been  at  St.  Sebastian ; or  why  the  legend 
accompanying  the  portrait  of  her  painted  in  1630  should 
represent  her  as  then  being  fifty-two  years  old.  Still  he  had 
been  able  to  verify  the  chief  facts  stated  by  Catalina,  so 
decided  to  publish  the  memoirs,  together  with  such  notes 
and  historical  documents  as  seemed  worth  adding.  This 
volume  appeared  in  1829,  “an  unfortunate  time,”  says 
M.  Valon  ( Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , p.  634),  “ since  it  was  just 
on  the  eve  of  the  Revolution  of  July.  The  political  disturb- 
ances whirled  away  the  unfortunate  book,  which  disap- 
peared as  mysteriously  as  the  heroine  whose  history  it 
recounted.  It  can  hardly  have  been  seen  by  more  than  a 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lix 


few  rare  amateurs,  and  it  has  now  become  a bibliographical 
curiosity."  But  Catalina's  literary  career  had  at  last  begun 
— though  without  any  such  “ regular  controversy"  as  that 
mentioned  by  De  Quincey. 

Before  pursuing  further  this  “ literary  career"  we  should 
pause  long  enough  to  note  the  chief  events  in  Catalina's  “per- 
sonal career,"  as  she  herself  has  recorded  them.  She  was  born 
at  St.  Sebastian  in  1585,  and  at  the  age  of  four  was  placed  in  a 
convent  there.  At  the  convent  she  remained  until  March  18, 
1600,  when  she  succeeded  in  escaping.  After  changing  her 
costume  and  cutting  her  hair  she  wandered  to  Vittoria,  where 
she  entered  the  service  of  a professor,  a relative  of  her  mother. 
Three  months  later  she  ran  away  to  Valladolid  and  became 
a lackey  in  the  service  of  a state  secretary,  Don  Juan  de 
Idiaquez.  To  his  house  her  father  came  one  day  to  report 
the  escape  of  his  daughter  from  St.  Sebastian,  and  Catalina 
deemed  it  prudent  to  flee. 

According  to  the  memoirs,  Catalina,  on  leaving  Valladolid, 
made  her  way  to  Bilbao,  and  was  there  imprisoned  for  having 
struck  some  gamins  that  were  annoying  her.  She  next  went 
to  Estella,  in  Navarre,  where  she  remained  for  two  years  as 
the  page  of  a nobleman.  At  the  end  of  this  time  (1603)  she 
was  venturesome  enough  to  visit  St.  Sebastian,  fortunately 
without  being  recognized.  Going  thence  to  San  Lucar,  she 
embarked  as  cabin-boy  on  one  of  the  vessels  in  a fleet  about 
to  set  sail  for  New  Andalusia. 

On  Holy  Monday,  1603,  the  squadron  left  San  Lucar,  and 
in  due  time  reached  Araya,  where  ensued  a naval  combat 
with  the  Dutch,  in  which  Catalina  took  part.  After  having 
touched  at  Cartagena  and  Nombre  de  Dios,  she  deserted  her 
ship  and  made  her  way  to  Panama.  There  she  entered  the 
service  of  a merchant  named  Urquiza;  at  the  end  of  three 
months  she  and  her  master  set  sail  for  Paita,  which  they 


lx 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


finally  succeeded  in  reaching,  though  their  vessel  was  wrecked 
en  rovte.  From  Paita,  Catalina  was  sent  to  Saha,  there  to 
take  charge  of  a mercantile  establishment  belonging  to  her 
master.  A street  fight  in  which  she  seriously  wounded  a 
friend  of  one  Reyes,  who  had  insulted  her,  caused  Catalina 
to  take  sanctuary  in  a near-by  church,  whence  she  was  dragged 
to  prison.  She  was  released  three  months  later  through  the 
influence  of  the  bishop,  and,  having  refused  to  marry  the 
aunt  of  Reyes's  wife  in  order  to  escape  from  the  private  ven- 
geance that  now  threatened  her,  was  sent  by  her  master  to 
take  charge  of  his  establishment  at  Trujillo.  Hither  Reyes 
and  his  friends  followed  her.  When  they  ventured  to  attack 
her,  she  again  killed  a man  and  was  again  forced  to  take 
sanctuary  — this  time  in  a cathedral,  from  which  she  was 
allowed  to  depart  only  on  condition  she  left  the  country  with- 
out delay.  At  Lima,  to  which  city  she  fled,  a wealthy  mer- 
chant named  Solarte  gave  her  employment  as  his  commercial 
agent,  but  one  day  he  discovered  that  she  was  making  love 
to  his  wife's  sister,  so  he  discharged  Catalina  from  his  service. 

Just  at  this  time  troops  were  being  raised  for  a campaign 
against  the  Indians  of  Chili ; Catalina  enlisted  and  soon  found 
herself  at  Concepcion,  where  she  met  her  brother  and  was 
transferred  to  his  company.  For  three  years  she  lived  with 
him  on  the  most  intimate  terms.  Finally,  however,  they 
quarrelled  about  a woman  and  came  to  blows ; as  a punish- 
ment for  her  insubordination,  Catalina  was  sentenced  to  an 
exile  of  three  years  at  the  fort  of  Paicabi.  During  this 
period  she  served  in  a campaign  against  the  Indians,  and 
because  of  her  bravery  at  the  battle  of  Valdivia,  was  promoted 
to  the  rank  of  alferez.  She  took  part  in  the  battle  of  Puren 
(1608),  and  after  some  years  more  of  distinguished  service 
was  allowed  to  return  to  Concepcion.  Here  she  quarrelled 
over  the  cards  with  a friend  one  day,  killed  him  and  also  the 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lxi 


auditor-general,  who  tried  to  arrest  her,  and  once  more  found 
refuge  in  a church.  After  having  remained  in  sanctuary  for 
some  months,  she  was  visited  by  a friend,  who  wished  her  to 
act  as  his  second  in  a duel  to  be  fought  that  night.  She  con- 
sented, and  in  the  course  of  the  combat  killed,  without  know- 
ing him,  her  own  brother.  The  latter  with  his  last  breath 
accidentally  made  known  the  name  of  his  murderer,  and 
Catalina  was  forced  again  to  have  recourse  to  her  sanctuary. 
After  having  been  held  a close  prisoner  here  for  eight  months, 
she  finally  succeeded,  with  the  aid  of  a friend,  in  making  her 
escape. 

While  fleeing  along  the  coast,  she  met  up  with  two  desert- 
ers. The  three  decided  to  cross  the  Andes  into  the  province 
of  Tucuman,  but  Catalina  alone  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
other  side  of  the  mountains.  Here  she  found  shelter  at  the 
farmhouse  of  a Creole  woman,  who,  some  days  later,  pro- 
posed to  Catalina  that  she  remain  and  assist  in  the  farm 
management,  having  first  married  her  daughter.  To  this 
proposition  Catalina  agreed ; two  months  later  the  wedding 
party  went  to  Tucuman,  where  our  friend  the  alferez  man- 
aged to  delay  the  performance  of  the  ceremony,  meanwhile 
making  arrangements  to  marry  the  niece  of  a city  ecclesiastic. 
Matters  having  thus  become  complicated,  she  suddenly  de- 
camped by  night,  leaving  the  two  girls  to  exchange  consola- 
tions. 

. After  a journey  of  three  months,  during  which  she  had  an 
encounter  with  robbers,  she  reached  Potosi,  some  sixteen  hun- 
dred miles  from  Tucuman.  Here  she  entered  the  service  of 
Don  Juan  Lopez  de  Arquijo  and  was  intrusted  with  the 
task  of  convoying  twelve  thousand  llamas  and  eighty  Indians 
to  Charcas.  Upon  her  return  to  Potosi  she  again  enlisted  in 
the  army,  was  made  adjutant-sergeant-major,  and  served  in 
this  capacity  for  two  years,  during  which  time  she  took  part 


iXll 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


in  an  expedition  against  the  Indians  of  Los  Chuncos  and  El 
Dorado.  Having  at  length  deserted  with  a number  of  her 
companions,  she  went  to  La  Plata,  but  had  not  been  there 
long  before  she  was  unjustly  accused  of  having  stabbed 
a woman.  When  finally  acquitted,  she  made  her  way  to 
Las  Charcas  again  and  found  there  Don  Juan,  her  former 
master.  She  was  then  put  in  charge  of  another  drove  of 
llamas,  which  she  convoyed  safely  to  Potosi.  When  in  Las 
Charcas  again,  she  had  a gaming  quarrel  with  the  bishop's 
nephew,  killed  him,  and  fled  to  Piscobamba.  Here  she 
quarrelled  again,  and  again  killed  a man.  Upon  the  testi- 
mony of  false  witnesses,  she  was  condemned  to  be  hung  for 
this  crime,  and  was  on  the  scaffold  itself  when  a reprieve 
came  from  La  Plata,  where  the  witnesses  had  confessed  their 
perjury.  Catalina  was  then  taken  to  La  Plata  and  set  free. 
Soon  after  she  went  to  Cochabamba  on  business  for  Don  Juan 
and  was  just  about  to  return  to  La  Plata  when,  on  passing  the 
house  of  a certain  Chavarria,  she  was  hailed  by  his  wife,  who 
prayed  to  be  rescued  from  her  husband,  as  he  was  about 
to  kill  her.  Catalina  allowed  the  lady  to  share  her  mule; 
together  they  fled  to  La  Plata,  closely  pursued  by  the  irate 
husband.  Having  placed  the  woman  in  a convent,  Catalina 
then  had  the  pleasure  of  killing  her  husband,  wdiom  she  met 
in  the  street.  For  five  months  Catalina  remained  in  the 
shelter  of  a convent,  but  at  the  end  of  this  time  had  httle 
difficulty  in  clearing  herself.  She  was  then  employed  by  the 
president  of  La  Plata  on  a judicial  mission  to  Piscobamba  and 
Mizque. 

At  La  Paz,  where  we  find  her  next,  she  killed  a man  that 
had  called  her  a liar,  and  escaped  being  hanged  by  a stratagem 
more  ingenious  than  commendable.  Cuzco  was  her  next  stop- 
ping place ; here  she  was  falsely  accused  of  having  killed  the 
corregidor  and  was  acquitted  only  after  six  months.  She 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lxiii 


then  hastened  to  Lima,  took  part  in  a naval  battle  with  the 
Dutch  before  Callao,  was  captured  by  them,  and  left  to  die 
on  the  coast  of  Paita.  Instead  of  dying,  she  made  her  way 
back  to  Lima,  lived  there  seven  months,  then  went  to  Cuzco, 
where  she  killed  a celebrated  bully  and  was  herself  seriously 
wounded.  As  soon  as  she  was  able,  she  fled  to  Guamanga. 
Before  she  had  been  there  long,  however,  some  alguazils  tried 
to  arrest  her;  she  resisted,  was  slightly  wounded,  and  was 
taken  by  the  bishop  into  his  own  house.  Next  morning  the 
bishop  called  her  into  his  presence  and  questioned  her  as  to 
her  past  life.  Touched  by  his  sympathy,  his  sound  advice, 
and  his  evident  goodness,  she  finally  said  to  him  : “ Seigneur, 
what  I have  told  your  illustrious  highness  is  not  the  truth; 
the  truth  is  — that  I am  a woman.'7  Other  details  followed, 
and  the  bishop,  convinced  of  her  veracity,  soon  after  had  her 
placed  in  the  convent  of  Santa  Clara  at  Guamanga. 

Five  months  later,  in  1620,  the  bishop  died  and  Catalina 
was  removed  to  the  convent  of  the  Holy  Trinity  at  Lima. 
Here  she  remained  for  two  years  and  a half.  At  the  end  of 
this  time,  information  having  been  received  from  Spain  to 
the  effect  that  she  had  not  become  a professed  nun  before 
leaving  St.  Sebastian,  Catalina  was  set  at  liberty.  Im- 
mediately she  determined  to  return  to  Spain;  having  made 
her  way  overland  to  Cartagena,  she  embarked  on  one  of  the 
vessels  of  a fleet  about  to  return  to  Cadiz. 

On  November  1,  1624,  she  reached  Cadiz,  and  after  spend- 
ing eight  days  there,  made  her  way  to  Seville  and  thence  to 
Madrid.  At  the  last-named  place  she  was  arrested  by  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities,  and  owed  her  release  to  the  inter- 
vention of  the  Duke  of  Olivarez.  She  next  visited  Pam- 
peluna,  wdiere  she  heard  of  the  jubilee  at  Rome  and  decided  to 
call  upon  the  pope.  On  her  way,  however,  she  was  arrested 
at  Turin  as  a spy,  despoiled  of  her  money  and  papers,  and 


1X1V 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


ordered  not  to  continue  her  journey.  She  returned,  there- 
fore, to  Spain,  and  applied  to  the  king  for  a pension,  which 
was  granted  her.  Again  she  started  for  Rome,  but  before 
reaching  Barcelona  was  set  upon  by  thieves  and  robbed  of 
everything  but  her  papers.  The  king,  fortunately,  was  at 
Barcelona,  and  from  him  Catalina  succeeded  in  securing 
a gift  of  food  and  money.  She  then  went  to  Genoa,  and  while 
there  killed  an  Italian  in  a duel.  At  last  she  reached  Rome, 
where  she  was  cordially  received  by  the  pope,  and  where 
during  her  stay  of  a month  and  a half  she  was  constantly 
feasted  and  feted  by  the  dignitaries  of  church  and  state. 
From  Rome  she  went  to  Xaples  — and  with  an  anecdote  of 
her  life  in  that  city  her  memoirs  suddenly  end  (July,  1626). 

Little  is  definitely  known  concerning  the  rest  of  her  life. 
On  July  4,  1630,  she  was  at  Seville,  and  on  July  25  set  sail 
for  America.  In  1645  she  was  seen  at  Vera  Cruz  by  a monk 
named  Nicholas  de  Renteria,  who  had  just  come  over  from 
Spain;  here,  under  the  name  of  Antonio  de  Erauso,  she  had 
charge  of  a drove  of  mules  and  negroes  and  made  it  her  busi- 
ness to  carry  baggage  from  one  place  to  another.  When  and 
where  she  died  is  altogether  unknown. 

Such  is  a brief  summary  of  those  facts  about  Catalina  de 
Erauso  to  be  gathered  from  her  memoirs  and  the  notes  of 
M.  Ferrer.  His  book,  we  have  seen,  disappeared  mysteri- 
ously and  soon  became  a bibliographical  curiosity.  A copy 
of  it,  or  of  a new  edition  published  at  Valencia  in- 1839,  must 
have  fallen,  however,  into  the  hands  of  M.  Alexis  de  Valon, 
who  contributed  to  the  Revue  des  Deux  Moudes  for  February 
15,  1847,  a forty-nine  page  article  entitled  Catalina  de  Erauso. 
Forty-five  of  these  pages  are  devoted  to  telling  the  story  of 
the  nun’s  life;  the  other  four  give  us  some  account  of  the 
original  memoirs  and  of  M.  Ferrer’s  editorial  labors.  Valon 
claims  to  “ retell  the  story  from  her  own  notes,”  but  he  does 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lxv 


so  as  a romancer,  not  a historian.  He  seems  first  to  have 
picked  out  for  his  use  such  events  in  Catalina’s  life  as  ap- 
peared to  him  most  characteristic,  best  fitted  to  make  a well- 
rounded  story,  and  most  certain  to  interest  the  reader  without 
wearying  him  by  their  sameness;  he  rejects  at  least  half  the 
incidents  recorded  by  Catalina,  and  shows  no  little  skill  in 
making  his  choice.  Upon  this  framework  he  then  proceeds 
to  build  up  his  story  in  most  artistic  fashion.  He  invents 
particulars,  he  transfers  others  from  the  rejected  incidents 
of  the  memoirs  and  embodies  them  in  new  settings;  he  sup- 
plies interesting  descriptions  of  persons  and  things ; he 
moralizes,  he  attempts  to  analyze  Catalina’s  feelings,  mo- 
tives, character.  The  result  is  a vivid  historical  romance, 
written  in  a style  as  unlike  the  crude,  terse,  vigorous  manner 
of  Catalina  as  his  story  itself  is  unlike  the  original  memoirs. 
The  nun’s  character  alone  remains  practically  unchanged; 
here,  as  in  the  autobiography,  we  realize  that,  as  Valon  says, 
‘'hers  is  a savage,  self-abandoned  nature,  having  a conscience 
neither  for  good  nor  for  evil;”  that  “she  knows  no  morality 
other  than  that  of  the  highways,  camps,  and  ships;”  that 
“she  robs  with  candor,  worthy  woman,  and  kills  with 
naivete.  ” 

So  much  for  the  Catalina  de  Erauso  of  February  15,  1847. 
In  Tail’s  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  May,  June,  and  July  of  the 
same  year  there  appeared  De  Quincey’s  story  of  The  Nautico- 
Military  Nun  of  Spain,  substantially  as  we  have  it,  under  a 
different  title,  in  the  present  volume.  What  did  De  Quincey 
know  about  Catalina  de  Erauso  ? Seemingly  nothing  more 
than  what  he  learned  from  Valon’s  article.  The  internal  evi- 
dence is  conclusive  that  he  had  never  seen  M.  Ferrer’s  edition 
of  Catalina’s  memoirs,  that  he  had  not  even  seen  a review  of 
this  book  which  appeared  in  the  Monthly  Chronicle  soon  after 
the  publication  of  the  new  edition  of  1839.  The  truth  seems 


lxvi 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


to  be  that  De  Quincey,  having  read  Valon’s  article  in  the 
Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  thought  it  a capital  story,  and  pro- 
ceeded thereupon  to  create  an  English  version  of  it. 

De  Quincey ;s  Spanish  Military  Nun  is,  then,  as  Professor 
Masson  describes  it,  merely  “a  cooked  and  spiced  and  De 
Quinceyfied  (which  means  electrified  and  glorified)  translation 
from  the  French.”  With  a single  exception,  the  main  inci- 
dents — and  nearly  all  the  minor  details  — of  the  two  stories 
are  precisely  the  same;  there  is  just  such  similarity  as  would 
naturally  have  resulted  if,  after  reading  the  French  article, 
De  Quincey  had  thrust  it  aside  and  relying  solely  upon  his 
memory  had  rewritten  the  whole  thing  from  a different  point 
of  view  and  to  illustrate  a very  different  conception  of  Cata- 
lina herself.  To  be  more  specific,  De  Quincey  rejects  certain 
features  of  his  original,  such  as  the  non-essential  names,  the 
descriptive  passages,  the  comments  on  Catalina’s  character, 
and  the  minor  details  that  appear  to  him  useless  — especially 
if  they  are  unfavorable  to  Catalina.  In  their  place  he  sup- 
plies everything  that  makes  The  Spanish  Military  Nun  so  well 
worth  reading,  so  infinitely  superior  as  a literary  production 
to  M.  Valon’s  more  orthodox  narrative.  The  all-pervading 
wit  and  humor  of  the  present  essay  is  entirely  De  Quincey’s 
— that  wit  and  humor  tinged  with  irony,  without  which  the 
story  would  be,  to  borrow  his  own  phrase,  a caput  mortuum. 
To  De  Quincey  we  owe  those  delicious  asides  by  means  of 
which  he  takes  us  into  his  confidence  and  calls  upon  us  to 
share  his  feelings;  De  Quincey’s  own,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
are  the  numerous  digressions,  so  fantastic,  so  instructive,  or 
so  eloquent.  But  most  of  all  we  should  thank  De  Quincey 
for  that  mantle  of  tenderness  and  pathos  which  he  throws 
about  the  “man-woman  adventuress”  of  Valon,  and  by 
means  of  which  he  would  hide  from  our  view  all  the  imper- 
fections of  his  heroine.  “I  love  this  Kate,  bloodstained  as 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES  lxvii 

she  is, ’ he  exclaims,  and  he  does  all  in  his  power  to  make  us 
love  her  too.  Indeed,  the  most  remarkable  thing  about  De 
Quincey’s  recast  of  his  French  original  is  the  skill  with  which 
he  manages  to  glorify  the  character  of  the  Military  Nun  her- 
self. The  most  accomplished  advocate  was  never  more  care- 
ful to  suppress  facts  but  little  creditable  to  his  client,  to 
represent  her  actions  in  the  most  favorable  light,  to  attribute 
to  her  the  highest  possible  motives.  The  Catalina  of  De 
Q.uincey  is  thus  a very  different  being  from  the  Catalina  of 
V alon,  much  “ handier,”  wiser,  and  nobler ; less  lifelike,  to  be 
sure,  but  infinitely  more  worthy  of  our  admiration  and  our 
love. 

There  are,  then,  three  important  literary  versions  of  Cata- 
lina’s career : her  own,  Valon’s,  and  De  Quincey’s.  We  have 
just  noticed  some  of  the  differences  between  these  versions; 
parallel  passages  from  the  memoirs  and  Valon’s  article  will 
serve,  when  compared  with  De  Quincey’s  narrative,  to  illus- 
trate others  more  minute. 

Concerning  Catalina’s  birth  and  convent  life  we  read  in 
her  memoirs  (pp.  1-2,  Heredia’s  edition,  Paris,  1894)  : — 

“I,  Dona  Catalina  de  Erauso,  was  born  in  the  city  of  San 
Sebastian  in  Guipuzcoa,  in  the  year  1585,  daughter  of  the 
captain  Don  Miguel  de  Erauso  and  of  Dona  Maria  Perez  de 
Galarraga  y Arce,  natives  and  inhabitants  of  the  said  city. 
My  parents  kept  me  at  home  with  my  brothers  and  sisters 
until  I was  four  years  old.  In  1589  they  placed  me  in  the 
Dominican  convent  of  San  Sebastian  el  Antiguo.  My  aunt, 
Dona  Ursula  de  Unza  y Sarasti,  cousin-german  of  my  mother, 
was  prioress  of  this  convent.  There  I remained  until  I was 
fifteen  years  old,  at  which  time  they  began  to  talk  about  my 
becoming  a professed  nun.  The  year  of  my  noviciate  had 
about  passed  when  I had  a dispute  with  a nun  named  Dona 
Catalina  de  Aliri,  who  had  entered  the  convent  a widow. 


jxviii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 

She  was  large  and  strong  and  I but  a slight  young  girl ; sh«. 
gave  me  several  blows,  which  I resented  deeply.  ” 

Valon  gives  us  the  following  account  of  the  same  period 
(Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , Voi.  XVII,  pp.  589-590). 

“In  1592,  an  honest  hidalgo  of  San  Sebastian,  named 
Miguel  de  Erauso,  an  old  soldier  with  many  children  and  lit- 
tle money,  was  greatly  disappointed  one  fine  morning  when 
the  news  was  brought  him  that  during  the  night  heaven  had 
sent  him  a fourth  daughter.  Having  carefully  calculated 
that  he  would  never  have  any  dowry  to  give  her,  he  decided 
to  entrust  the  little  Catalina  to  God.  He  called  the  nurse, 
therefore ; wrapped  up  the  child  in  a corner  of  his  mantle : 
and  carried  her  to  the  convent  of  which  his  sister-in-law, 
Doha  Ursula,  was  abbess.  He  was  certainly  taking  time  by 
the  forelock  in  order  to  make  a good  Dominican  of  her,  and 
the  proper  inclination  should  not  have  been  lacking  in  this 
child,  cradled,  so  to  speak,  in  the  sanctuary.  But  the  proper 
inclination  was  lacking,  and  never  before  did  a cloistral  edu- 
cation produce  such  a nun. 

“ After  having  been  the  most  insufferable  child,  she  became 
the  most  unsubdued  of  novices.  At  fifteen,  that  age  when 
upon  the  countenance  of  a young  girl  the  candor  of  child- 
hood begins  to  mingle  with  the  divine  grace  of  womanhood, 
she  had,  so  to  speak,  nothing  feminine  in  her  character  or  in 
her  face.  Those  modest  blushes,  that  charming  embarrass- 
ment, by  which  a young  girl  shows  her  knowledge  of  her  own 
beauty  and  her  secret  consciousness  of  her  own  powers,  were 
never  seen  in  Catalina.  She  was  haughty  and  violent ; every- 
body had  to  give  way  to  her,  and  so  much  resolution  sparkled 
in  her  black  eyes  that  the  inmates  of  the  convent  hardly 
knew  what  to  think  of  this  strange  novice.  One  might  call 
her  a hawk  raised  by  accident  in  a nest  of  turtle-doves.  But 
not  all  the  saintly  recluses  felt  alike  about  Catalina.  The 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lxix 


novices  of  her  own  age,  accustomed  from  childhood  to  her 
domination,  always  submitted  tremblingly  to  Catalina,  in 
whom  they  perceived  a superior  and  almost  masculine 
strength  of  will;  but  not  all  the  nuns  were  novices.  In  the 
convent  of  San  Sebastian  el  antiguo,  there  might  be  found 
more  than  one  of  those  old  recluses,  rough  and  cross,  em- 
bittered by  celibacy,  whose  mummified  faces  resemble  geo- 
metrical figures  covered  with  parchment,  and  of  whom  the 
type,  preserved  from  age  to  age,  may  still  be  found  in  all 
convents  and  even  elsewhere.  Dona  Incarnacion  de  Aliri  was 
the  most  crabbed  of  these  old  women,  who  ordinarily  have  a 
horror  of  youth  and  beauty;  she  detested  Catalina  and  had 
long  since  sworn  to  finish  with  the  insolent  novice  once  for 
all.  One  evening  when  the  nuns  were  going  to  the  refectory, 
Catalina,  scorning  all  convent  rules,  passed  impudently  before 
Doha  Incarnacion,  elbowing  her  as  she  went ; Doha  Incarna- 
cion pushed  her  back  sharply,  and  Catalina,  having  persisted 
in  her  attempt  to  pass,  presently  received  a resounding  smack 
from  the  dryest  hand  in  the  whole  peninsula.  At  once  she 
changed  countenance  and  took  on  a look  so  horrible  that  all 
the  nuns  crowded  about  her  in  terror,  fearing  some  tragedy. 
Doha  Incarnacion  fled;  later  she  declared  that  the  glance  of 
the  young  girl,  glittering  like  a sword-blade,  charged  with 
hate  and  ferocity  like  that  of  a savage  beast,  had  at  that 
moment  revealed  to  her  as  by  a lightning  flash,  the  bloody 
destiny  of  Catalina.” 

With  these  two  passages,  the  four  first  chapters  of  De 
Quincey's  story  should  be  compared. 

Having  thus  considered  the  three  chief  accounts  of  her  life 
we  may  end  our  study  of  Catalina  de  Erauso's  “ literary 
career,”  no  less  interesting  in  its  vicissitudes  than  the  “ per- 
sonal career”  with  which  De  Quincey  has  chiefly  concerned 
himself.  The  study  has  not  been  complete,  for  we  have 


Ixx 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


not  taken  into  account  the  Relacion  Verdadera  and  the 
S egunda  Relacion  of  Catalina's  exploits,  published  at  Madrid 
in  1624  and  1625,  respectively ; a drama  — La  Monja  Alferez , 
by  Juan  Perez  de  Montalvan  (1602-1638)  — of  which  she  is 
the  heroine;  a French  version  of  the  memoirs  published  at 
Paris  in  1830;  a reprint  of  Ferrer's  book  at  Barcelona  in 
1838;  a resume  of  Catalina's  life  in  the  Musee  des  Families 
(1838-1839)  by  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes;  a chapter  concern- 
ing Catalina  in  the  Valence  et  Valladolid  (Paris,  1877),  of  M. 
Antoine  de  Latour;  or  the  latest  French  translation  of  the 
memoirs  by  Jose-Maria  de  Heredia  (Paris,  1894) ; reference 
has  not  even  been  made  — and  this  for  a very  good  reason  — to 
those  lengthy  reports  by  “ journals  in  Spain  and  Germany" 
which  De  Quincey  mentions,  and  which  may  or  may  not  have 
appeared.  We  have  considered  only  those  antecedent  ac- 
counts in  which  De  Quincey 's  story  has  made  us  necessarily 
interested,  and,  in  excuse  for  not  pursuing  further  Catalina's 
literary  career,  may  quote  Professor  Masson's  belief  that,  “if 
ever  that  Spanish  eccentric,  that  masculine  nun-adventuress 
from  Biscay,  with  her  black  eyes  and  black  hair,  the  tinge  of 
brown  down  on  her  upper  lip,  and  the  sword  by  her  side,  shall 
take  permanent  hold  of  the  imagination  of  those  who  read 
books,  it  will  be  because  her  portrait,  after  having  been  sev- 
eral times  attempted  by  rougher  hands,  was  repainted  more 
sympathetically  by  this  greater  artist." 

VI.  Bibliographical 
A.  Works 

The  standard  edition  of  De  Quincey  is : — 

1.  The  Collected  Writings  of  Thomas  De  Quincey,  in 
14  volumes,  with  notes  and  a preface  to  each  volume 
by  David  Masson.  London,  A.  and  C.  Black,  1S97. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


lxxi 


Additional  matter  may  be  found  in : — 

2.  The  Uncollected  Writings  of  Thomas  De  Quincey. 

Edited  by  James  Hogg.  2 volumes,  London,  1890. 

3.  The  Posthumous  Works  of  Thomas  De  Quincey.  Ed- 

ited by  A.  H.  Japp.  2 volumes,  London,  1891-1893. 
Noteworthy  among  numerous  American  editions  of  par- 
ticular essays  are : — 

4.  The  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater.  Edited 

by  Arthur  Beatty.  New  York,  1900. 

5.  Style,  Rhetoric,  and  Language.  Edited  by  Fred  N. 

Scott.  Boston,  n.d. 

6.  The  Flight  of  a Tartar  Tribe.  Edited  by  M.  H. 

Turk.  Boston,  n.d. 

7.  Selections  from  De  Quincey.  Edited  by  M.  H.  Turk. 

Boston,  1902. 


B.  Biography  and  Criticism 

8.  Anton,  Peter.  England’s  Essayists.  Edinburgh,  1883. 

9.  Bayne,  Peter.  Essays  on  Biography  and  Criticism. 

First  Series.  Boston,  1857. 

10.  Birrell,  Augustine.  Essays  about  Men , Women , 

and  Books.  New  York,  1894. 

11.  Budd,  Henry.  St.  Mary’s  Hall  Lectures.  Philadel- 

phia, 1898. 

12.  Chancellor,  E.  B.  Literary  Types , being  Essays  in 

Criticism.  New  York,  1895. 

13.  Clark,  J.  Scott.  A Study  of  English  Prose  Writers. 

New  York,  1898. 

14.  Craik,  Henry.  English  Prose.  Volume  5,  New  York, 

1896. 

15.  Giles,  Henry.  Illustrations  of  Genius.  Boston,  1854. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTES 


Wxii 

16.  Gilfillan,  George.  A Gallery  of  Literary  Portraits . 
Edinburgh,  1845. 

17.,  Gould,  George  M.  Biographic  Clinics.  Philadelphia, 
1903. 

18.  Hogg,  James.  De  Quincey  and  his  Friends.  London, 

1895. 

19.  Hunt,  Theodore  W.  Representative  English  Prose. 

New  York,  1895. 

20.  Ingleby,  Clement  M.  Essays.  London,  1S8S. 

21.  Japp,  Alexander  H.  De  Quincey  Memorials.  2 vol- 

umes, London,  1891. 

22.  Mason,  Edward  T.  Personal  Traits  of  British  Authors. 

New  York,  1885. 

23.  Masson,  David.  Essays  Biographical  and  Critical.. 

London,  1856. 

24.  De  Quincey.  London,  1902. 

25.  Martineau,  Harriet.  Biographical  Sketches.  Lon- 

don, 1869. 

26.  Minto,  William.  Manual  of  English  Prose  Litera- 

ture. Boston,  1901. 

27.  Page,  H.  A.  (A.  H.  Japp.)  Thomas  De  Quincey:  His 

Life  and  Writings.  2 volumes  in  1,  New  York,  n.d. 

28.  Saintsbury,  George.  Essays  in  English  Literature , 

1780-1860.  London,  1896. 

29.  Stephen,  Leslie.  Hours  in  a Library.  Volume  1, 

New  York,  1899. 

30.  Wotton,  Mabel  E.  (Ed.)  Word  Portraits  of  Famous 

Writers.  London,  1887. 


JOAN  OF  ARC 

THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH,  AND  THE 
SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE 

QUINCEY 

JOAN  OF  ARC0 

What  is  to  be  thought  of  her ? What  is  to  be  thought 
of  the  poor  shepherd  girl  from  the  hills  and  forests  of  Lor- 
raine,0 that  — like  the  Hebrew  shepherd  boy°  from  the  hills 
and  forests  of  Judea  — rose  suddenly  out  of  the  quiet,  out 
of  the  safety,  out  of  the  religious  inspiration,  rooted  in  deep  5 
pastoral  solitudes,  to  a station  in  the  van  of  armies,  and 
to  the  more  perilous  station  at  the  right  hand  of  kings? 
The  Hebrew  boy  inaugurated  his  patriotic  mission  by  an 
act,°  by  a victorious  act , such  as  no  man  could  deny.  But 
so  did  the  girl  of  Lorraine,  if  we  read  her  story  as  it  was  read  10 
by  those  who  saw  her  nearest.  Adverse  armies  bore  witness 
to  the  boy  as  no  pretender;  but  so  they  did  to  the  gentle 
girl.  Judged  by  the  voices  of  all  who  saw  them  from  a sta- 
tion of  good-will,  both  were  found  true  and  loyal  to  any  prom- 
ises involved  in  their  first  acts.  Enemies  it  was  that  made  15 
the  difference  between  their  subsequent  fortunes.  The 
boy  rose  to  a splendour  and  a noonday  prosperity,  both  per- 
sonal and  public,  that  rang  through  the  records  of  his  people, 
and  became  a by-word  amongst  his  posterity  for  a thousand 
years,  until  the  sceptre  was  departing  from  Judah.0  The2C 
poor,  forsaken  girl,  on  the  contrary,  drank  not  herself  from 
that  cup  of  rest  which  she  had  secured  for  France.  She 
never  sang  together  with  the  songs  that  rose  in  her  native 

1 


B 


2 THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QXJINCEY 

Domremy0  as  echoes  to  the  departing  steps  of  invaders. 
She  mingled  not  in  the  festal  dances  at  Vaucouleurs0  which 
celebrated  in  rapture  the  redemption  of  France.  No  ! for 
her  voice  was  then  silent ; no  ! for  her  feet  were  dust.  Pure,. 

5 innocent.,  noble-hearted  girl ! whom,  from  earliest  youth, 
ever  I believed  in  as  full  of  truth  and  self-sacrifice,  this 
was  amongst  the  strongest  pledges  for  thy  truth,  that  never 
once  — no,  not  for  a moment  of  weakness  — didst  thou 
revel  in  the  vision  of  coronets  and  honour  from  man.  Coro- 
0 nets  for  thee  ! Oh  no  ! Honours,  if  they  come  when  all  is 
over,  are  for  those  that  share  thy  blood.0  Daughter  of 
Domremy,  when  the  gratitude  of  thy  king  shall  awaken, 
thou  wilt  be  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  dead.  Call  her,  King 
of  France,  but  she  will  not  hear  thee.  Cite  her  by  the  ap- 
15  paritors  to  come  and  receive  a robe  of  honour,  but  she  will 
be  found  en  contumace.0  When  the  thunders  of  universal 
France,  as  even  yet  may  happen,0  shall  proclaim  the  grandeur 
of  the  poor  shepherd  girl  that  gave  up  all  for  her  country, 
thy  ear,  young  shepherd  girl,  will  have  been  deaf  for  five 
20  centuries.  To  suffer  and  to  do,  that  was  thy  portion  in  this 
life;  that  was  thy  destiny;  and  not  for  a moment  was  it 
hidden  from  thyself.  Life,  thou  saidst,  is  short;  and  the 
sleep  which  is  in  the  grave  is  long;  let  me  use  that  life,  so 
transitory,  for  the  glory  of  those  heavenly  dreams  destined 
25  to  comfort  the  sleep  which  is  so  long ! This  pure  creature 
— pure  from  every  suspicion  of  even  a visionary  self-interest, 
even  as  she  was  pure  in  senses  more  obvious0  — never  once 
did  this  holy  child,  as  regarded  herself,  relax  from  her 
belief  in  the  darkness  that  was  travelling  to  meet  her.  She 
A)  might  not  prefigure  the  very  manner  of  her  death ; she  saw 
not  in  vision,  perhaps,  the  aerial  altitude  of  the  fiery  scaffold, 
the  spectators  without  end  on  every  road  pouring  into  Rouen0 
as  to  a coronation,  the  surging  smoke,  the  volleying  flames, 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


3 

t#  f "7  z_j$  °t  <7 

the  hostile  faces  all  around,  the  pitying  eye  that  lurked 
but  here  and  there,  until  nature  and  imperishable  truth 
broke  loose  from  artificial  restraints0 ; — these  might  not 
be  apparent  through  the  mists  of  the  hurrying  future.  But 
the  voice  that  called  her  to  death,  that  she  heard  for  ever.  5 

Great  was  the  throne  of  France  even  in  those  days,  and 
great  was  he  that  sat  upon  it:  but  well  Joanna  knew  that 
not  the  throne,  nor  he  that  sat  upon  it,  was  for  her ; but, 
on  the  contrary,  that  she  was  for  them;  not  she  by  them, 
but  they  by  her,  should  rise  from  the  dust.  Gorgeous  were  10 
the  lilies  of  France,0  and  for  centuries  had  the  privilege  to 
spread  their  beauty  over  land  and  sea,  until,  in  another  cen- 
tury, the  wrath  of  God  and  man  combined  to  wither  them0 ; 
but  well  Joanna  knew,  early  at  Domremy  she  had  read  that 
bitter  truth,  that  the  lilies  of  France  would  decorate  no  gar- 15 
land  for  her.  Flower  nor  bud,  bell  nor  blossom,  would  ever 
bloom  for  her  ! 

But  stay.  What  reason  is  there  for  taking  up  this  subject  of 
Joanna  precisely  in  the  spring  of  1847°?  Might  it  not  have 
been  left  till  the  spring  of  1947,  or,  perhaps,  left  till  called  20 
for°?  Yes,  but  it  is  called  for,  and  clamorously.  You 
are  aware,  reader,  that  amongst  the  many  original  thinkers 
whom  modern  France  has  produced  one  of  the  reputed 
leaders  is  M.  Michelet.0  All  these  writers  are  of  a revolution- 
ary cast : not  in  a political  sense  merely,  but  in  all  senses : 25 
mad,  oftentimes,  as  March  hares0;  crazy  with  the  laughing 
gas  of  recovered  liberty0;  drunk  with  the  wine-cup  of  their 
mighty  Revolution,0  snorting,  whinnying,  throwing-up  their 
heels,  like  wild  horses  in  the  boundless  Pampas,  and  running 
races  of  defiance  with  snipes,  or  with  the  winds,  or  with  their  30 
own  shadows,  if  they  can  find  nothing  else  to  challenge. 
Some  time  or  other  I,  that  have  leisure  to  read,  may  intro- 


I THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCEY 

duce  you , that  have  not,  to  two  or  three  dozen  of  these  writers0 ; 
of  whom  I can  assure  you  beforehand  that  they  are  often 
profound,  and  at  intervals  are  even  as  impassioned  as  if  they 
were  come  of  our  best  English  blood.  But  now,  confining 
5 our  attention  to  M.  Michelet,  we  in  England  — who  know 
him  best  by  his  worst  book,  the  book  against  priests,  &c.°  — 
know  him  disadvantageously.  That  book  is  a rhapsody  of 
incoherence.  But  his  “ History  of  France”0  is  quite  another 
thing.  A man,  in  whatsoever  craft  he  sails,  cannot  stretch 
10  away  out  of  sight  when  he  is  linked  to  the  windings  of  the 
shore  by  towing-ropes  of  History.  Facts,  and  the  conse- 
quences of  facts,  draw  the  writer  back  to  the  falconer's 
lure°  from  the  giddiest  heights  of  speculation.  Here,  there- 
fore — in  his  “ France”  — if  not  always  free  from  flightiness, 
15  if  now  and  then  off  like  a rocket  for  an  airy  wheel  in  the 
clouds,  M.  Michelet,  with  natural  politeness,  never  forgets 
that  he  has  left  a large  audience  waiting  for  him  on  earth, 
and  gazing  upwards  in  anxiety  for  his  return : return,  there- 
fore, he  does.  But  History,  though  clear  of  certain  tempta- 
20tions  in  one  direction,  has  separate  dangers  of  its  own.  It 
is  impossible  so  to  write  a history  of  France,  or  of  England  — 
works  becoming  every  hour  more  indispensable  to  the  in- 
evitably-political  man  of  this  day  — without  perilous  open- 
ings for  error.  If  I,  for  instance,  on  the  part  of  England, 
25  should  happen  to  turn  my  labours  into  that’  channel,  and  (on 
the  model  of  Lord  Percy  going  to  Chevy  Chase)0 

u A vow  to  God  should  make 

My  pleasure  in  the  Michelet  woods 
Three  summer  days  to  take.” 

SO  probably,  from  simple  delirium,  I might  hunt  M.  Michelet 
into  delirium  tremens.0  Two  strong  angels  stand  by  the 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


5 


side  of  History,  whether  French  History  or  English,  as  heraldic 
supporters : the  angel  of  research  on  the  left  hand,  that  must 
read  millions  of  dusty  parchments,  and  of  pages  blotted  with 
lies;  the  angel  of  meditation  on  the  right  hand,  that  must 
cleanse  these  lying  records  with  fire,  even  as  of  old  the  draper-  5 
ies  of  asbestos  were  cleansed,0  and  must  quicken  them  into 
regenerated  life.  Willingly  I acknowledge  that  no  man 
will  ever  avoid  innumerable  errors  of  detail;  with  so  vast 
a compass  of  ground  to  traverse,  this  is  impossible ; but  such 
errors  (though  I have  a bushel  on  hand,  at  M.  Michelet's  15 
service)  are  not  the  game  I chase;  it  is  the  bitter  and  un- 
fair spirit  in  which  M.  Michelet  writes  against  England. 
Even  that , after  all,  is  but  my  secondary  object;  the  real  one 
is  Joanna,  the  Pucelle  d 'Orleans0  for  herself. 

I am  not  going  to  write  the  history  of  La  Pucelle : to  do  15 
this,  or  even  circumstantially  to  report  the  history  of  her 
persecution  and  bitter  death,  of  her  struggle  with  false  wit- 
nesses and  with  ensnaring  judges,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
have  before  us  all  the  documents,  and  therefore  the  collection 
only  now  forthcoming  in  Paris.0  But  my  purpose  is  narrower.  20 
There  have  been  great  thinkers,  disdaining  the  careless 
judgments  of  contemporaries,  who  have  thrown  themselves 
boldly  on  the  judgment  of  a far  posterity,  that  should  have 
had  time  to  review,  to  ponder,  to  compare.  There  have  been 
great  actors  on  the  stage  of  tragic  humanity  that  might,  25 
with  the  same  depth  of  confidence,  have  appealed  from  the 
levity  of  compatriot  friends  — too  heartless  for  the  sublime 
interest  of  their  story,  and  too  impatient  for  the  labour 
of  sifting  its  perplexities  — to  the  magnanimity  and  jus- 
tice of  enemies.  To  this  class  belongs  the  Maid  of  Arc.  30 
The  ancient  Romans  were  too  faithful  to  the  ideal  of  grandeur 
in  themselves  not  to  relent,  after  a generation  or  two,  before 
the  grandeur  of  Hannibal.0  Mithridates,  a more  doubtful 


6 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


person,  yet,  merely  for  the  magic  perseverance  of  his  indomi- 
table malice,  won  from  the  same  Romans  the  only  real 
honour  that  ever  he  received  on  earth.0  And  we  English 
have  ever  shown  the  same  homage  to  stubborn  enmity.  To 
5 work  unflinchingly  for  the  ruin  of  England ; to  say  through 
life,  by  word  and  by  deed,  Delenda  est  Anglia  Victrix!0  — 
that  one  purpose  of  malice,  faithfully  pursued,  has  quar- 
terns. some  people  upon  our  national  funds  of  homage  as 
by  a perpetual  annuity.  Better  than  an  inheritance  of  ser- 
10  vice  rendered  to  England  herself  has  sometimes  proved  the 
most  insane  hatred  to  England.  Hyder  Ali,°  even  his  son 
Tippoo,0  though  so  far  inferior,  and  Xapoleon,0  have  all 
benefited  by  this  disposition  amongst  ourselves  to  exaggerate 
the  merit  of  diabolic  enmity.0  Not  one  of  these  men  was 
15  ever  capable,  in  a solitary  instance,  of  praising  an  enemy 
(what  do  you  say  to  that , reader?);  and  yet,  in  their  be- 
half, we  consent  to  forget,  not  their  crimes  only,  but  (which 
is  worse)  their  hideous  bigotry  and  anti-magnanimous  ego- 
tism, — for  nationality  it  was  not.  Suffren,0  and  some  half- 
20  dozen  of  other  French  nautical  heroes,0  because  rightly 
they  did  us  all  the  mischief  they  could  (which  was  really 
great),  are  names  justly  reverenced  in  England.  On  the 
same  principle,  La  Pucelle  d 'Orleans,  the  victorious  enemy 
of  England,  has  been  destined  to  receive  her  deepest  com- 
25  memoration  from  the  magnanimous  justice  of  Englishmen.0 

Joanna,  as  we  in  England  should  call  her,  but,  according 
to  her  own  statement,  Jeanne  (or,  as  M.  Michelet  asserts, 
Jean°)  D’Arc,  was  born  at  Domremy,  a village  on  the  marches 
of  Lorraine  and  Champagne,0  and  dependent  upon  the  town 
*30  of  Vaucouleurs.  I have  called  her  a Lorrainer,  not  simply 
because  the  word  is  prettier,  but  because  Champagne  too 
odiously  reminds  us  English  of  what  are  for  us  imaginary 
wines,  — which,  undoubtedly,  La  Pucelle  tasted  as  rarely  as 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


7 


we  English : we  English,  because  the  Champagne  of  London 
is  chiefly  grown  in  Devonshire;  La  Pucelle,  because  the 
Champagne  of  Champagne  never,  by  any  chance-  flowed 
into  the  fountain  of  Domremy,  from  which  only  she  drank. 
M.  Michelet  will  have  her  to  be  a Champenoise,0  and  for  no 
better  reason  than  that  she  “took  after  her  father,”  who 
happened  to  be  a Champenois. 

These  disputes,  however,  turn  on  refinements  too  nice. 
Domremy  stood  upon  the  frontiers,  and,  like  other  frontiers, 
produced  a mixed  race,  representing  the  cis  and  the  trans.° 
A river  (it  is  true)  formed  the  boundary-line  at  this  point  — 
the  river  Meuse;  and  that , in  old  days,  might  have  divided 
the  populations ; but  in  these  days  it  did  not : there  were 
bridges,  there  were  ferries,  and  weddings  crossed  from  the 
right  bank  to  the  left.  Here  lay  two  great  roads,  not  so 
much  for  travellers  that  were  few,  as  for  armies  that  were 
too  many  by  half.  These  two  roads,  one  of  which  was  the 
great  high-road  between  France  and  Germany,0  decussated 
at  this  very  point;  which  is  a learned  way  of  saying  that 
they  formed  a St.  Andrew's  Cross,0  or  letter  X.  I hope  the 
compositor  will  choose  a good  large  X ; in  which  case  the 
point  of  intersection,  the  locus ° of  conflux  and  intersection 
for  these  four  diverging  arms,  will  finish  the  reader's  geo- 
graphical education,  by  showing  him  to  a hair's-breadth 
where  it  was  that  Domremy  stood.  These  roads,  so  grandly 
situated,  as  great  trunk  arteries  between  twTo  mighty  realms,0 
and  haunted  for  ever  by  wars  or  rumours  of  wars,0  decus- 
sated (for  anything  I know  to  the  contrary)  absolutely 
under  Joanna's  bedroom  window:  one  rolling  away  to  the 
right,  past  Monsieur  D'Arc's  old  barn,  and  the  other  unac- 
countably preferring  to  sweep  round  that  odious  man's0 
pig-sty  to  the  left. 

On  whichever  side  of  the  border  chance  had  thrown 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


8 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


Joanna,  the  same  love  to  France  would  have  been  nurtured 
For  it  is  a strange  fact,  noticed  by  M.  Michelet  and  others, 
that  the  Dukes  of  Bar°  and  Lorraine  had  for  generations 
pursued  the  policy  of  eternal  warfare  with  France  on  their 
Sown  account,  yet  also  of  eternal  amity  and  league  with 
France  in  case  anybody  else  presumed  to  attack  her.  Let 
peace  settle  upon  France,  and  before  long  you  might  rely 
upon  seeing  the  little  vixen  Lorraine  flying  at  the  throat  of 
France.  Let  France  be  assailed  by  a formidable  enemy, 
10  and  instantly  you  saw  a Duke  of  Lorraine  insisting  on 
having  his  own  throat  cut  in  support  of  France;  which 
favour  accordingly  was  cheerfully  granted  to  him  in  three 
great  successive  battles : twice  by  the  English,  viz.  at 
Orecy  and  Agincourt,  once  by  the  Sultan  at  Nicopolis.0 
15  This  sympathy  with  France  during  great  eclipses,  in 
those  that  during  ordinary  seasons  were  always  teasing 
her  with  brawls  and  guerilla  inroads,  strengthened  the 
natural  piety  to  France  of  those  that  were  confessedly  the 
children  of  her  own  house.0  The  outposts  of  France,  as 
20  one  may  call  the  great  frontier  provinces,  were  of  all  localities 
the  most  devoted  to  the  Fleurs  de  Lys.°  To  witness,  at 
any  great  crisis,  the  generous  devotion  to  these  lilies  of 
the  little  fiery  cousin  that  in  gentler  weather  was  for  ever 
tilting  at  the  breast  of  France,  could  not  but  fan  the  zeal 
25  of  France’s  legitimate  daughters  : whilst  to  occupy  a post  of 
honour  on  the  frontiers  against  an  old  hereditary  enemy  of 
France0  would  naturally  stimulate  this  zeal  by  a sentiment 
of  martial  pride,  by  a sense  of  danger  always  threatening, 
and  of  hatred  always  smouldering.  That  great  four-headed 
30  road  was  a perpetual  memento  to  patriotic  ardour.  To 
say  “ This  way  lies  the  road  to  Paris,  and  that  other 
way  to  Aix-la-Chapelle ; this  to  Prague,  that  to  Vienna,  ” 
nourished  the  warfare  of  the  heart  by  daily  ministrations 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


of  sense.  The  eye  that  watched  for  the  gleams  of  lance  or 
helmet  from  the  hostile  frontier,  the  ear  that  listened  for 
the  groaning  of  wheels,  made  the  high-road  itself,  with  its 
relations  to  centres  so  remote,  into  a manual  of  patriotic 
duty. 

The  situation,  therefore,  locally , of  Joanna  was  full  of  pro- 
found suggestions  to  a heart  that  listened  for  the  stealthy 
steps  of  change  and  fear  that  too  surely  were  in  motion. 
But,  if  the  place  were  grand,  the  time,  the  burden  of  the 
time,  was  far  more  so.  The  air  overhead  in  its  upper 
chambers0  was  hurtling  with  the  obscure  sound;  was  dark 
with  sullen  fermenting  of  storms  that  had  been  gathering 
for  a hundred  and  thirty  years.0  The  battle  of  Agincourf 
in  Joanna’s  childhood0  had  reopened  the  wounds  of  France. 
Crecy°  and  Poictiers,0  those  withering  overthrows  for 
the  chivalry  of  France,  had,  before  Agincourt  occurred, 
been  tranquillised  by  more  than  half-a-century  ; but  this 
resurrection  of  their  trumpet  wails  made  the  whole  series 
of  battles  and  endless  skirmishes  take  their  stations  as 
parts  in  one  drama.  The  graves  that  had  closed  sixty 
years  ago  seemed  to  fly  open  in  sympathy  with  a sorrow 
that  echoed  their  own.  The  monarchy  of  France  laboured 
in  extremity,  rocked  and  reeled  like  a ship  fighting  with 
the  darkness  of  monsoons.  The  madness  of  the  poor 
king  (Charles  VI °)  falling  in  at  such  a crisis,  like  the  case 
of  women  labouring  in  childbirth  during  the  storming  of  a 
city,  trebled  the  awfulness  of  the  time.  Even  the  wild 
story0  of  the  incident  which  had  immediately  occasioned 
the  explosion  of  this  madness  — the  case  of  a man  unknown, 
gloomy,  and  perhaps  maniacal  himself,  coming  out  of  a 
forest  at  noondajq  laying  his  hand  upon  the  bridle  of  the 
king’s  horse,  checking  him  for  a moment  to  say,  “ Oh, 
king,  thou  art  betrayed,  ” and  then  vanishing,  no  man  knew 


5 

1C 

15 

20 

25 

30 


10  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QTJINCEY 


whither,  as  he  had  appeared  for  no  man  knew  what  — feh 
in  with  the  universal  prostration  of  mind  that  laid  France 
on  her  knees,  as  before  the  slow  unweaving  of  some  ancient 
prophetic  doom.  The  famines,  the  extraordinary  diseases, 
5 the  insurrections  of  the  peasantry  up  and  down  Europe0  — 
these  were  chords  struck  from  the  same  mysterious  harp ; 
but  these  were  transitory  chords.  There  had  been  others 
of  deeper  and  more  ominous  sound.  The  termination  of 
the  Crusades,0  the  destruction  of  the  Templars,0  the  Papal 
10  interdicts,0  the  tragedies  caused  or  suffered  by  the  house 
of  Anjou,  and  by  the  Emperor0  — these  were  full  of  a more 
permanent  significance.  But,  since  then,  the  colossal  fig- 
ure of  feudalism  was  seen  standing,  as  it  were  on  tiptoe, 
at  Crecy,  for  flight  from  earth0 : that  was  a revolution 
15  unparalleled ; yet  that  was  a trifle  by  comparison  with  the 
more  fearful  revolutions  that  were  mining  below  the  Church. 
By  her  own  internal  schisms,  by  the  abominable  spectacle 
of  a double  pope0  — so  that  no  man,  except  through  politi- 
cal bias,  could  even  guess  which  was  Heaven's  vicegerent, 
20  and  which  the  creature  of  Hell  — the  Church  was  rehearsing, 
as  in  still  earlier  forms  she  had  already  rehearsed,  those 
vast  rents  in  her  foundations  which  no  man  should  ever 
heal.° 

These  were  the  loftiest  peaks  of  the  cloudland  in  the 
25  skies  that  to  the  scientific  gazer  first  caught  the  colours 
of  the  new  morning  in  advance.  But  the  whole  vast  range 
alike  of  sweeping  glooms  overhead  dwelt  upon  all  meditative 
minds,  even  upon  those  that  could  not  distinguish  the 
tendencies  nor  decipher  the  forms.  It  was,  therefore, 
30  not  her  own  age  alone  as  affected  by  its  immediate  calami- 
ties that  lay  with  such  weight  upon  Joanna's  mind,  but 
her  own  age  as  one  section  in  a vast  mysterious  drama, 
unweaving  through  a century  back,  and  drawing  nearer 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


11 


continually  to  some  dreadful  crisis.  Cataracts  and  rapids 
were  heard  roaring  ahead  ; and  signs  were  seen  far  back, 
by  help  of  old  men’s  memories,  which  answered  secretly  to 
signs  now  coming  forward  on  the  eye,  even  as  locks  answer 
to  keys.  It  was  not  wonderful  that  in  such  a haunted  5 
solitude,  with  such  a haunted  heart,  Joanna  should  see  an- 
gelic visions,  and  hear  angelic  voices.  These  voices  whis- 
pered to  her  for  ever  the  duty,  self-imposed,  of  delivering 
France.  Five  years  she  listened  to  these  monitory  voices 
with  internal  struggles.  At  length  she  could  resist  no  Id 
longer.  Doubt  gave  way;  and  she  left  her  home  for  ever 
in  order  to  present  herself  at  the  dauphin’s0  court. 

The  education  of  this  poor  girl  was  mean  according  to 
the  present  standard : was  ineffably  grand,  according  to 
a purer  philosophic  standard : and  only  not  good  for  our  15 
age  because  for  us  it  would  be  unattainable.  She  read 
nothing,  for  she  could  not  read;  but  she  had  heard  others 
read  parts  of  the  Roman  martyrology.0  She  wept  in 
sympathy  with  the  sad  Misereres0  of  the  Romish  Church; 
she  rose  to  heaven  with  the  glad  triumphant  Te  Deums°  of  20 
Rome;  she  drew  her  comfort  and  her  vital  strength  from 
the  rites  of  the  same  Church.  But,  next  after  these 
spiritual  advantages,  she  owed  most  to  the  advantages 
of  her  situation.  The  fountain  of  Domremy  was  on  the 
brink  of  a boundless  forest;  and  it  was  haunted  to  that 25 
degree  by  fairies  that  the  parish  priest  (cure)  was  obliged  to 
read  mass  there  once  a-year,  in  order  to  keep  them  in  any 
decent  bounds.  Fairies  are  important,  even  in  a statisti- 
cal view:  certain  weeds  mark  poverty  in  the  soil;  fairies 
mark  its  solitude.  As  surely  as  the  wolf  retires  before  SC 
cities  does  the  fairy  sequester  herself  from  the  haunts  of 
the  licensed  victualler.0  A village  is  too  much  for  her 
nervous  delicacy:  at  most,  she  can  tolerate  a distant  view 


12 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


of  a hamlet.  We  may  judge,  therefore,  by  the  uneasiness 
and  extra  trouble  which  they  gave  to  the  parson,  in  what 
strength  the  fairies  mustered  at  Domremy,  and,  by  a satis- 
factory consequence,  how  thinly  sown  with  men  and  women 
5 must  have  been  that  region  even  in  its  inhabited  spots. 
But  the  forests  of  Domremy  — those  were  the  glories  of 
the  land : for  in  them  abode  mysterious  powers  and  ancient 
secrets  that  towered  into  tragic  strength.  “ Abbeys  there 
were,  and  abbey  windows,”  — “ like  Moorish  temples  of 
10  the  Hindoos,”0  — that  exercised  even  princely  power  both  in 
Lorraine  and  in  the  German  Diets.0  These  had  their  sweet 
bells  that  pierced  the  forests  for  many  a league  at  mat- 
ins or  vespers,  and  each  its  own  dreamy  legend.  Few 
enough,  and  scattered  enough,  were  these  abbeys,  so  as  in 
15  no  degree  to  disturb  the  deep  solitude  of  the  region ; yet 
many  enough  to  spread  a network  or  awning  of  Christian 
sanctity  over  what  else  might  have  seemed  a heathen 
wilderness.  This  sort  of  religious  talisman  being  secured, 
a man  the  most  afraid  of  ghosts  (like  myself,  suppose,  or 
20  the  reader)  becomes  armed  into  courage  to  wander  for 
days  in  their  sylvan  recesses.  The  mountains  of  the  Vosges, 
on  the  eastern  frontier  of  France,0  have  never  attracted 
much  notice  from  Europe,  except  in  1813-14  for  a few  brief 
months,  when  they  fell  within  Napoleon's  line  of  defence 
25  against  the  Allies.0  But  they  are  interesting  for  this 
amongst  other  features,  that  they  do  not,  like  some  loftier 
ranges,  repel  woods : the  forests  and  the  hills  are  on  sociable 
terms.  Live  and  let  live  is  their  motto.0  For  this  reason, 
in  part,  these  tracts  in  Lorraine  were  a favourite  hunting- 
30  ground  with  the  Carlo vingian  princes.0  About  six  hundred 
years  before  Joanna's  childhood,  Charlemagne  was  known 
to  have  hunted  there.0  That,  of  itself,  was  a grand  incident 
in  the  traditions  of  a forest  or  a chase.  In  these  vast  forests. 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


13 


also,  were  to  be  found  (if  anywhere  to  be  found)  those 
mysterious  fawns  that  tempted  solitary  hunters  into  vision- 
ary and  perilous  pursuits.0  Here  was  seen  (if  anywhere 
seen)  that  ancient  stag0  who  was  already  nine  hundred 
years  old,  but  possibly  a hundred  or  two  more,  when  met  5 
by  Charlemagne;  and  the  thing  was  put  beyond  doubt  by 
the  inscription  upon  his  golden  collar.  I believe  Charle- 
magne knighted  the  stag;  and,  if  ever  he  is  met  again  by  a 
king,  he  ought  to  be  made  an  earl,  or,  being  upon  the  marches 
of  France,  a marquis.0  Observe,  I don’t  absolutely  vouch  1G 
for  all  these  things : my  own  opinion  varies.  On  a fine 
breezy  forenoon  I am  audaciously  sceptical;  but  as  twi- 
light sets  in  my  credulity  grows  steadily,  till  it  becomes 
equal  to  anything  that  could  be  desired.  And  I have 
heard  candid  sportsmen  declare  that,  outside  of  these  very  15 
forests,  they  laughed  loudly  at  all  the  dim  tales  connected 
with  their  haunted  solitudes,  but,  on  reaching  a spot  noto- 
riously eighteen  miles  deep  within  them,  they  agreed  with 
Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  that  a good  deal  might  be  said  on 
both  sides.0  20 

Such  traditions,  or  any  others  that  (like  the  stag)  connect 
distant  generations  with  each  other,  are,  for  that  cause, 
sublime  ; and  the  sense  of  the  shadowy,  connected  with 
such  appearances  that  reveal  themselves  or  not  according 
to  circumstances,  leaves  a colouring  of  sanctity  over  ancient  25 
forests,  even  in  those  minds  that  utterty  reject  the  legend 
as  a fact. 

But,  apart  from  all  distinct  stories  of  that  order,  in  any 
solitary  frontier  between  two  great  empires,  — as  here,  for 
instance,  or  in  the  desert  between  Syria  and  the  Euphrates,  30 
— there  is  an  inevitable  tendency,  in  minds  of  any  deep 
sensibility,  to  people  the  solitudes  with  phantom  images 
of  powers  that  were  of  old  so  vast.  Joanna,  therefore, 


14  THE  ESSAYS  OF  TIIOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


in  her  quiet  occupation  of  a shepherdess,  would  be  led  con- 
tinually to  brood  over  the  political  condition  of  her  country0 
by  the  traditions  of  the  past  no  less  than  by  the  mementos 
of  the  local  present. 

5 M.  Michelet,  indeed,  says  that  La  Pucelle  was  not  a shep- 
herdess. I beg  his  pardon : she  was.  What  he  rests  upon 
I guess  pretty  well : it  is  the  evidence  of  a woman  called 
Haumette,0  the  most  confidential  friend  of  Joanna.  Now, 
she  is  a good  witness,  and  a good  girl,  and  I like  her;  for 
10  she  makes  a natural  and  affectionate  report  of  Joanna’s 
ordinary  life.  But  still,  however  good  she  may  be  as  a 
witness,  Joanna  is  better;  and  she,  when  speaking  to  the 
dauphin,  calls  herself  in  the  Latin  report  Bergereta.0  Even 
Haumette  confesses  that  Joanna  tended  sheep  in  her  girl- 
15  hood.  And  I believe  that,  if  Miss  Haumette  were  taking 
coffee  alone  with  me  this  very  evening  (February  12,  1847) 
— in  which  there  would  be  no  subject  for  scandal  or  for 
maiden  blushes,  because  I am  an  intense  philosopher,  and 
Miss  H.  would  be  hard  upon  four  hundred  and  fifty  years 
20  old  — she  would  admit  the  following  comment  upon  her  evi- 
dence to  be  right.  A Frenchman,  about  forty  years  ago  — 
M.  Simond,  in  his  “ Travels,  ”°  — mentions  accidentally 
the  following  hideous  scene0  as  one  steadily  observed  and 
watched  by  himself  in  chivalrous  France  not  very  long  be- 
25  fore  the  French  Revolution  : — A peasant  was  ploughing ; and 
the  team  that  drew  his  plough  was  a donkey  and  a woman. 
Both  were  regularly  harnessed : both  pulled  alike.  This 
is  bad  enough;  but  the  Frenchman  adds  that,  in  distrib- 
uting his  lashes,  the  peasant  was  obviously  desirous  of  being 
30  impartial : or,  if  either  of  the  yoke-fellows  had  a right 
to  complain,  certainly  it  was  not  the  donkey.  Now,  in 
any  country  where  such  degradation  of  females  could  be 
tolerated  bv  the  state  of  manners,  a woman  of  delicacy 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


15 


would  shrink  from  acknowledging,  either  for  herself  or 
her  friend,  that  she  had  ever  been  addicted  to  any  mode 
of  labour  not . strictly  domestic ; because,  if  once  owning 
herself  a prsedial0  servant,  she  would  be  sensible  that 
this  confession  extended  by  probability  in  the  hearer’s  5 
thoughts  to  the  having  incurred  indignities  of  this  horrible 
kind.  Haumette  clearly  thinks  it  more  dignified  for  Joanna 
to  have  been  darning  the  stockings  of  her  horny-hoofed0 
father,  Monsieur  D’Arc,  than  keeping  sheep,  lest  she 
might  then  be  suspected  of  having  ever  done  something  ig 
worse.  But,  luckily,  there  was  no  danger  of  that: 
Joanna  never  was  in  service;  and  my  opinion  is  that  her 
father  should  have  mended  his  own  stockings,  since  prob- 
ably he  was  the  party  to  make  the  holes  in  them,  as 
many  a better  man  than  D’Arc  does,0  — meaning  by  15 
that  not  myself,  because,  though  probably  a better  man 
than  D’Arc,  I protest  against  doing  anything  of  the 
kind.  If  I lived  even  with  Friday  in  Juan  Fernandez,0 
either  Friday  must  do  all  the  darning,  or  else  it  must  go 
undone.  The  better  men  that  I meant  were  the  sailors  20 
in  the  British  navy,  every  man  of  whom  mends  his  own 
stockings.  Who  else  is  to  do  it?  Do  you  suppose,  reader, 
that  the  junior  lords  of  the  admiralty0  are  under  articles 
to  darn  for  the  navy? 

The  reason,  meantime,  for  my  systematic  hatred  of  25 
D’Arc  is  this : — There  was  a story  current  in  France  before 
the  Revolution,0  framed  to  ridicule  the  pauper  aristocracy, 
who  happened  to  have  long  pedigrees  and  short  rent  rolls : 
viz.  that  a head  of  such  a house,  dating  from  the  Crusades, 
was  overheard  saying  to  his  son,  a Chevalier  of  St.  Louis,0  3G 
“ Chevalier , as-tu  donne  au  cochon  d manger  !y)°  Now,  it 
is  clearly  made  out  by  the  surviving  evidence  that  D’Arc 
would  much  have  preferred  continuing  to  say,  “ Ma  fille , 


16  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


as-tu  donn£  au  cochon  ct  manger?”0  to  saying,  “ Pucelh 
d’Orleans,  as-tu  sauve  les  fleurs-de-lys  ?”°  There  is  an  old 
English  copy  of  verses0  which  argues  thus : — 

44  If  the  man  that  turnips  cries 
5 Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

Then  ’tis  plain  the  man  had  rather 
Have  a turnip  than  his  father.” 

I cannot  say  that  the  logic  of  these  verses  was  ever  entirely 
to  my  satisfaction.  I do  not  see  my  way  through  it  as 
10  clearly  as  could  be  wished.  But  I see  my  way  most  clearly 
through  D’Arc;  and  the  result  is  — that  he  would  greatly 
have  preferred  not  merely  a turnip  to  his  father,  but  the 
saving  a pound  or  so  of  bacon  to  saving  the  Oriflamme  of 
France.0 

15  It  is  probable  (as  M.  Michelet  suggests0)  that  the  title 
of  Virgin  or  Pucelle  had  in  itself,  and  apart  from  the  mi- 
raculous stories  about  her,  a secret  power  over  the  rude 
soldiery  and  partisan  chiefs  of  that  period;  for  in  such  a 
person  they  saw  a representative  manifestation  of  the 
20  Virgin  Mary,  who,  in  a course  of  centuries,  had  grown 
steadily  upon  the  popular  heart.0 

As  to  Joanna’s  supernatural  detection  of  the  dauphin 
(Charles  VII)  amongst  three  hundred  lords  and  knights,  I 
am  surprised  at  the  credulity  which  could  ever  lend  itself 
25  to  that  theatrical  juggle.  Who  admires  more  than  myself 
the  sublime  enthusiasm,  the  rapturous  faith  in  herself, 
of  this  pure  creature?  But  I am  far  from  admiring  stage 
artifices  which  not  La  Pucelle , but  the  court,  must  have 
arranged;  nor  can  surrender  myself  to  the  conjurer’s  leg- 
30  erdemain , such  as  may  be  seen  every  day  for  a shilling. 
Southey’s  “ Joan  of  Arc  ”°  was  published  in  1796.  Twenty 
years  after,  talking  with  Southey,0  I was  surprised  to  find 


JOAN  OF  AR 0 


17 


him  still  owning  a secret  bias  in  favour  of  Joan,  founded  on 
her  detection  of  the  dauphin.  The  story,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  reader  new  to  the  case,  was  this : — La  Pucelte  was 
first  made  known  to  the  dauphin,  and  presented  to  his 
court,  at  Chinon0 : and  here  came  her  first  trial.  By  way 
of  testing  her  supernatural  pretensions,  she  was  to  find 
out  the  royal  personage  amongst  the  whole  ark  of  clean  and 
unclean  creatures.  Failing  in  this  coup  d’essai,0  she  would 
not  simply  disappoint  many  a beating  heart  in  the  glittering 
crowd  that  on  different  motives  yearned  for  her  success, 
but  she  would  ruin  herself,  and,  as  the  oracle  within  had 
told  her,  would,  by  ruining  herself,  ruin  France.  Our 
own  Sovereign  Lady  Victoria0  rehearses  annually  a trial 
not  so  severe  in  degree,  but  the  same  in  kind.  She  “ pricks” 
for  sheriffs.0  Joanna  pricked  for  a king.  But  observe 
the  difference : our  own  Lady  pricks  for  two  men  out  of 
three;  Joanna  for  one  man  out  of  three  hundred.  Happy 
Lady  of  the  Islands  and  the  Orient0 ! — she  cart  go  astray 
in  her  choice  only  by  one  half : to  the  extent  of  one  half 
she  must  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  right.  And  yet, 
even  with  these  tight  limits  to  the  misery  of  a boundless 
discretion,  permit  me,  Liege  Lady,  with  all  loyalty,  to  sub- 
mit that  now  and  then  you  prick  with  your  pin  the  wrong 
man.  But  the  poor  child  from  Domremy,  shrinking  under 
the  gaze  of  a dazzling  court  — not  because  dazzling  (for  in 
visions  she  had  seen  those  that  were  more  so),  but  because 
some  of  them  wore  a scoffing  smile  on  their  features  — how 
should  she  throw  her  line  into  so  deep  a river  to  angle  for  a 
king,  where  many  a gay  creature  was  sporting  that  mas- 
queraded as  kings  in  dress ! Nay,  even  more  than  any 
true  king  would  have  done : for,  in  Southey's  version 

of  the  story,  the  dauphin  says,  by  way  of  trying  the  virgin's 
magnetic  sympathy  with  royalty,  — 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


18  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


11  On  the  throne, 

I the  while  mingling  with  the  menial  throng, 

Some  courtier  shall  be  seated.”0 

This  usurper  is  even  crowned:  “the  jewelled  crown  shines 
5 on  a menial's  head.”0  But,  really,  that  is  “un  peu  fort”°; 
and  the  mob  of  spectators  might  raise  a scruple  whether  our 
friend  the  jackdaw  upon  the  throne,  and  the  dauphin  him- 
self, were  not  grazing  the  shins  of  treason.  For  the  dauphin 
could  not  lend  more  than  belonged  to  him.  According  to 
10  the  popular  notion,  he  had  no  crown  for  himself0 ; conse- 
quently none  to  lend,  on  any  pretence  whatever,  until  the 
consecrated  Maid  should  take  him  to  Rheims.0  This  was 
the  popular  notion  in  France.  But  certainly  it  was  the 
dauphin’s  interest  to  support  the  popular  notion,  as  he 
15  meant  to  use  the  services  of  Joanna.  For,  if  he  were  king 
already,  what  was  it  that  she  could  do  for  him  beyond 
Orleans0  ? That  is  to  say,  what  more  than  a merely  military 
service  could  she  render  him?  And,  above  all,  if  he  were 
king  without  a coronation,  and  without  the  oil  from  the 
20  sacred  ampulla,0  what  advantage  was  yet  open  to  him  by 
celerity  above  his  competitor,  the  English  boy°?  Now  was 
to  be  a race  for  a coronation : he  that  should  win  that  race 
carried  the  superstition  of  France  along  with  him : he  that 
should  first  be  drawn  from  the  ovens  of  Rheims0  was  under 
25  that  superstition  baked  into  a king. 

La  Pucelle , before  she  could  be  allowed  to  practise  as  a 
warrior,  was  put  through  her  manual  and  platoon  exercise, 
as  a pupil  in  divinity,  at  the  bar  of  six  eminent  men  in  wigs. 
According  to  Southey  (v.  393,  Book  III,  in  the  original  edition 
30  of  his  “ Joan  of  Arc”),  she  “appalled  the  doctors.”0  It’s  not 
easy  to  do  that:  but  they  had  some  reason  to  feel  bothered, 
as  that  surgeon  would  assuredly  feel  bothered  who,  upon  pro- 
ceeding to  dissect  a subject,  should  find  the  subject  retaliating 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


19 


as  a dissector  upon  himself,  especially  if  Joanna  ever  made 
the  speech0  to  them  which  occupies  v.  354-391,  B.  III.  It 
is  a double  impossibility : 1st,  because  a piracy  from  Tindal’s 
“Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation”0 — 'a  piracy  a parte 
ante ,°  and  by  three  centuries ; 2dly,  it  is  quite  contrary  to  the  5 
evidence  on  Joanna’s  trial.  Southey’s  “Joan”  of  a.d.  1796 
(Cottle,  Bristol0)  tells  the  doctors,  amongst  other  secrets,  that 
she  never  in  her  life  attended — 1st,  Mass;  nor  2d,  the  Sac- 
ramental Table;  nor  3d,  Confession.  In  the  meantime,  ail 
this  deistical  confession  of  Joanna’s,  besides  being  suicidal  10 
for  the  interest  of  her  cause,  is  opposed  to  the  depositions 
upon  both  trials.0  The  very  best  witness0  called  from  first 
to  last  deposes  that  Joanna  attended  these  rites  of  her  Church 
even  too  often ; was  taxed  with  doing  so ; and,  by  blushing, 
owned  the  charge  as  a fact,  though  certainly  not  as  a fault.  15 
Joanna  was  a girl  of  natural  piety,  that  saw  God  in  forests, 
and  hills,  and  fountains,  but  did  not  the  less  seek  him  in 
chapels  and  consecrated  oratories. 

This  peasant  girl  was  self-educated  through  her  own  natu- 
ral meditativeness.  If  the  reader  turns  to  that  divine  pas- 20 
sage  in  “Paradise  Regained”0  which  Milton  has  put  into  the 
mouth  of  our  Saviour  when  first  entering  the  wilderness,  and 
musing  upon  the  tendency  of  those  great  impulses  growing 
within  himself  — 

u Oh,  what  a multitude  of  thoughts  at  once  25 

Awakened  in  me  swarm,  while  I consider 
What  from  within  I feel  myself,  and  hear 
What  from  without  comes  often  to  my  ears, 

111  sorting  with  my  present  state  compared  ! 

When  I was  yet  a child,  no  childish  play  SO 

To  me  was  pleasing  ; all  my  mind  was  set 
Serious  to  learn  and  know,  and  thence  to  do, 

What  might  be  public  good  ; myself  I thought 
Born  to  that  end  ” — 


20  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


he  will  have  some  notion  of  the  vast  reveries  which  brooded 
over  the  heart  of  Joanna  in  early  girlhood,  when  the  wings 
were  budding  that  should  carry  her  from  Orleans  to  Rheims ; 
when  the  golden  chariot  was  dimly  revealing  itself  that  should 
5 carry  her  from  the  kingdom  of  France  Delivered0  to  the 
Eternal  Kingdom. 

It  is  not  requisite  for  the  honour  of  Joanna,  nor  is  there 
in  this  place  room,  to  pursue  her  brief  career  of  action. 
That,  though  wonderful,  forms  the  earthly  part  of  her  story : 
10  the  spiritual  part  is  the  saintly  passion0  of  her  imprison- 
ment, trial,  and  execution.  It  is  unfortunate,  therefore,  for 
Southey’s  “ Joan  of  Arc”  (which,  however,  should  always  be 
regarded  as  a juvenile  effort),  that  precisely  when  her  real 
glory  begins  the  poem  ends.  But  this  limitation  of  the  inter- 
15  est  grew,  no  doubt,  from  the  constraint  inseparably  attached 
to  the  law  of  epic  unity.0  Joanna’s  history  bisects  into  two 
opposite  hemispheres,  and  both  could  not  have  been  presented 
to  the  eye  in  one  poem,  unless  by  sacrificing  all  unity  of 
theme,  cr  else  by  involving  the  earlier  half,  as  a narrative 
20  episode,0  in  the  latter ; which,  however,  might  have  been  done, 
for  it  might  have  been  communicated  to  a fellow-prisoner,  or 
a confessor,  by  Joanna  herself.  It  is  sufficient,  as  concerns 
this  section  of  Joanna’s  life,  to  say  that  she  fulfilled,  to  the 
height  of  her  promises,  the  restoration  of  the  prostrate  throne. 
25  France  had  become  a province  of  England,  and  for  the  ruin 
of  both,  if  such  a yoke  could  be  maintained.  Dreadful  pecu- 
niary exhaustion  caused  the  English  energy  to  droop ; and 
that  critical  opening  La  Pucelle  used  with  a corresponding 
felicity  of  audacity  and  suddenness  (that  were  in  themselves 
30  portentous)  for  introducing  the  wedge  of  French  native  re- 
sources, for  rekindling  the  national  pride,  and  for  planting 
the  dauphin  once  more  upon  his  feet.  When  Joanna  ap- 
peared, he  had  been  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  struggle 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


21 


with  the  English,  distressed  as  they  were,  and  of  flying  to  the 
south  of  France.  She  taught  him  to  blush  for  such  abject 
counsels.  She  liberated  Orleans,  that  great  city,  so  decisive 
by  its  fate  for  the  issue  of  the  war,  and  then  beleaguered  by 
the  English  with  an  elaborate  application  of  engineering  skill  5 
unprecedented  in  Europe.  Entering  the  city  after  sunset  on 
the  29th  of  April,  she  sang  mass  on  Sunday,  May  8,  for  the 
entire  disappearance  of  the  besieging  force.  On  the  29th  of 
June  she  fought  and  gained  over  the  English  the  decisive 
battle  of  Patay° ; on  the  9th  of  July  she  took  Troyes0  by  a 10 
coup-de-main0  from  a mixed  garrison  of  English  and  Bur- 
gundians; on  the  15th  of  that  month  she  carried  the  dauphin 
into  Rheims0 ; on  Sunday  the  17th  she  crowned  him ; and  there 
she  rested  from  her  labour  of  triumph.  All  that  was  to  be  done 
she  had  now  accomplished : what  remained  was  — to  suffer.  15 
All  this  forward  movement  was  her  own : excepting  one 
man,°  the  whole  Council  was  against  her.  Her  enemies  were 
all  that  drew  power  from  earth.  Her  supporters  were  her 
own  strong  enthusiasm,  and  the  headlong  contagion  by 
which  she  carried  this  sublime  frenzy  into  the  hearts  of  20 
women,  of  soldiers,  and  of  all  who  lived  by  labour.  Hence- 
forwards  she  was  thwarted;  and  the  worst  error  that  she 
committed  w~as  to  lend  the  sanction  of  her  presence  to  coun- 
sels which  she  had  ceased  to  approve.  But  she  had  now 
accomplished  the  capital  objects  wdiich  her  own  visions  had  25 
dictated.  These  involved  all  the  rest.  Errors  were  now 
less  important ; and  doubtless  it  had  now  become  more  diffi- 
cult for  herself  to  pronounce  authentically  what  were  errors. 
The  noble  girl  had  achieved,  as  by  a rapture  of  motion,  the 
capital  end  of  clearing  out  a free  space  around  her  sovereign,  3f 
giving  him  the  power  to  move  his  arms  with  effect,  and, 
secondly,  the  inappreciable  end  of  winning  for  that  sovereigr 
what  seemed  ti  all  France  the  heavenly  ratification  of  his 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


rights,  by  crowning  him  with  the  ancient  solemnities.  She 
had  made  it  impossible  for  the  English  now  to  step  before  her. 
They  were  caught  in  an  irretrievable  blunder,  owing  partly 
to  discord  amongst  the  uncles  of  Henry  VI, ° partly  to  a want 
5 of  funds,  but  partly  to  the  very  impossibility  which  they 
believed  to  press  with  tenfold  force  upon  any  French  attempt 
to  forestall  theirs.  They  laughed  at  such  a thought;  and, 
whilst  they  laughed,  she  did  it.  Henceforth  the  single  re- 
dress for  the  English  of  this  capital  oversight,  but  which 
10  never  could  have  redressed  it  effectually,  was  to  vitiate  and 
taint  the  coronation  of  Charles  VII  as  the  work  of  a witch. 
That  policy,  and  not  malice  (as  M.  Michelet  is  so  happy  to 
believe0),  was  the  moving  principle  in  the  subsequent  prose- 
cution of  Joanna.  Unless  they  unhinged  the  force  of  the 
15  first  coronation  in  the  popular  mind  by  associating  it  with 
power  given  from  hell,  they  felt  that  the  sceptre  of  the 
invader  was  broken. 

But  she,  the  child  that,  at  nineteen,  had  wrought  wonders 
so  great  for  France,  was  she  not  elated?  Did  she  not  lose, 
20  as  men  so  often  have  lost,  all  sobriety  of  mind  when  standing 
upon  the  pinnacle  of  success  so  giddy  ? Let  her  enemies 
declare.0  During  the  progress  of  her  movement,  and  in  the 
centre  of  ferocious  struggles,  she  had  manifested  the  temper  of 
her  feelings  by  the  pity  which  she  had  everywhere  expressed 
25  for  the  suffering  enemy.  She  forwarded  to  the  English 
leaders  a touching  invitation  to  unite  with  the  French,  as 
brothers,  in  a common  crusade  against  infidels,  — thus 
opening  the  road  for  a soldierly  retreat.  She  interposed  to 
protect  the  captive  or  the  wounded;  she  mourned  over  the 
30 excesses  of  her  countrymen;  she  threw  herself  off  her  horse 
to  kneel  by  the  dying  English  soldier,  and  to  comfort  him 
with  such  ministrations,  physical  or  spiritual,  as  his  situation 
allowed.  “Nolebat,”  says  the  evidence,  “uti  ense  suo, 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


23 


aut  quemquam  interficere.,7°  She  sheltered  the  English 
that  invoked  her  aid  in  her  own  quarters.  She  wept  as  she 
beheld,  stretched  on  the  field  of  battle,  so  many  brave  ene- 
mies that  had  died  without  confession.  And,  as  regarded 
herself,  her  elation  expressed  itself  thus  : — On  the  day  when  5 
she  had  finished  her  work,  she  wept ; for  she  knew  that,  when 
her  triumphal  task  was  done,  her  end  must  be  approaching. 
Her  aspirations  pointed  only  to  a place  which  seemed  to  her 
more  than  usually  full  of  natural  piety,  as  one  in  which  it 
would  give  her  pleasure  to  die.  And  she  uttered,  between  1C 
smiles  and  tears,  as  a wish  that  inexpressibly  fascinated  her 
heart,  and  yet  was  half-fantastic,  a broken  prayer  that  God 
would  return  her  to  the  solitudes  from  which  he  had  drawn 
her,  and  suffer  her  to  become  a shepherdess  once  more.  It 
was  a natural  prayer,  because  nature  has  laid  a necessity  15 
upon  every  human  heart  to  seek  for  rest  and  to  shrink  from 
torment.  Yet,  again,  it  was  a half-fantastic  prayer,  because, 
from  childhood  upwards,  visions  that  she  had  no  power  to 
mistrust,  and  the  voices  which  sounded  in  her  ear  for  ever, 
had  long  since  persuaded  her  mind  that  for  her  no  such  prayer  20 
could  be  granted.  Too  well  she  felt  that  her  mission  must 
be  worked  out  to  the  end,  and  that  the  end  was  now  at  hand. 
All  went  wrong  from  this  time.  She  herself  had  created  the 
funds  out  of  "which  the  French  restoration  should  grow;  but 
she  was  not  suffered  to  witness  their  development,  or  their  25 
prosperous  application.  More  than  one  military  plan  was 
entered  upon  which  she  did  not  approve,0  But  she  still  con- 
tinued to  expose  her  person  as  before.  Severe  wounds  had 
not  taught  her  caution.  And  at  length,  in  a sortie  from 
Compikgne0  (whether  through  treacherous  collusion  on  the  30 
part  of  her  own  friends  is  doubtful  to  this  day°),  she  was 
made  prisoner  by  the  Burgundians,  and  finally  surrendered 
to  the  English. 


24  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


Now  came  her  trial.  This  trial,  moving  of  course  under 
English  influence,  was  conducted  in  chief  by  the  Bishop  oi 
Beauvais.0  He  was  a Frenchman,  sold  to  English  interests, 
and  hoping,  by  favour  of  the  English  leaders,  to  reach  the 
5 highest  preferment.0  Bishop  that  art , Archbishop  that  shall 
be , Cardinal  that  mayest  be,°  were  the  words  that  sounded 
continually  in  his  ear ; and  doubtless  a wnisper  of  visions  still 
higher,  of  a triple  crown,0  and  feet  upon  the  necks  of  kings, 
sometimes  stole  into  his  heart.  M.  Michelet  is  anxious  to 
10  keep  us  in  mind  that  this  bishop  was  but  an  agent  of  the  Eng- 
lish. True.  But  it  does  not  better  the  case  for  his  country- 
man that,  being  an  accomplice  in  the  crime,  making  himself 
the  leader  in  the  persecution  against  the  helpless  girl,  he  was 
willing  to  be  all  this  in  the  spirit,  and  with  the  conscious  vile- 
15  ness  of  a cat;s-paw.°  Never  from  the  foundations  of  the 
earth  was  there  such  a trial  as  this,  if  it  were  laid  open  in  all 
its  beauty  of  defence,  and  all  its  hellishness  of  attack.  Oh, 
child  of  France ! shepherdess,  peasant  girl ! trodden  under- 
foot by  all  around  thee,  how  I honour  thy  flashing  intellect, 
20  quick  as  God's  lightning,  and  true  as  God's  lightning  to  its 
mark,  that  ran  before  France  and  laggard  Europe  by  many 
a century,  confounding  the  malice  of  the  ensnarer,  and  mak- 
ing dumb  the  oracles  of  falsehood ! Is  it  not  scandalous, 
is  it  not  humiliating  to  civilisation,  that,  even  at  this  day,° 
25  France  exhibits  the  horrid  spectacle  of  judges  examining  the 
prisoner  against  himself ; seducing  him,  by  fraud,  into 
treacherous  conclusions  against  his  own  head;  using  the 
terrors  of  their  power  for  extorting  confessions  from  the 
frailty  of  hope;  nay  (which  is  worse),  using  the  blandish- 
30  ments  of  condescension  and  snaky  kindness  for  thawing  into 
compliances  of  gratitude  those  whom  they  have  failed  to 
freeze  into  terror  ? Wicked  judges  ! barbarian  jurisprudence  ! 
— that,  sitting  in  your  own  conceit  on  the  summits  of  social 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


25 


wisdom,  have  yet  failed  to  learn  the  first  principles  of  crimi- 
nal justice,  — sit  ye  humbly  and  with  docility  at  the  feet  of 
this  girl  from  Domremy,  that  tore  your  webs  of  cruelty  into 
shreds  and  dust.  “ Would  you  examine  me  as  a witness 
against  myself?”  was  the  question  by  which  many  times 5 
she  defied  their  arts.  Continually  she  showed  that  their 
interrogations  were  irrelevant  to  any  business  before  the 
court,  or  that  entered  into  the  ridiculous  charges  against  her. 
General  questions  were  proposed  to  her  on  points  of  casuisti- 
cal divinity;  two-edged  questions,0  which  not  one  of  them- 10 
selves  could  have  answered,  without,  on  the  one  side,  landing 
himself  in  heresy  (as  then  interpreted),  or,  on  the  other,  in 
some  presumptuous  expression  of  self-esteem.  Next  came 
a wretched  Dominican,0  that  pressed  her  with  an  objection,0 
which,  if  applied  to  the  Bible,  would  tax  every  one  of  its  15 
miracles  with  unsoundness.  The  monk  had  the  excuse  of 
never  having  read  the  Bible.  M.  Michelet  has  no  such  excuse ; 
and  it  makes  one  blush  for  him,  as  a philosopher,  to  find  him 
describing  such  an  argument  as  “ weighty,”  whereas  it  is  but 
a varied  expression  of  rude  Mahometan  metaphysics.0  Her  20 
• answer  to  this,  if  there  were  room  to  place  the  whole  in  a clear 
light,  was  as  shattering  as  it  was  rapid.  Another0  thought 
to  entrap  her  by  asking  what  language  the  angelic  visitors 
of  her  solitude  had  talked,  — as  though  heavenly  counsels 
could  want  polyglot  interpreters  for  every  word,  or  that  God  25 
needed  language  at  all  in  whispering  thoughts  to  a human 
heart.  Then  came  a worse  devil,0  who  asked  her  whether 
the  Archangel  Michael  had  appeared  naked.  Not  compre- 
hending the  vile  insinuation,  Joanna,  whose  poverty  sug- 
gested to  her  simplicity  that  it  might  be  the  costliness  of  30 
suitable  robes  which  caused  the  demur,  asked  them  if  they 
fancied  God,  who  clothed  the  flowers  of  the  valleys,0  unable 
to  find  raiment  for  his  servants.  The  answer  of  Joanna 


26  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE  Y 


moves  a smile  of  tenderness,  but  the  disappointment  of  het 
judges  makes  one  laugh  exultingly.  Others  succeeded  by 
troops,0  who  upbraided  her  with  leaving  her  father ; as  if  that 
greater  Father,  whom  she  believed  herself  to  have  been  serv- 
5 ing,  did  not  retain  the  power  of  dispensing  with  his  own  rules, 
or  had  not  said  that  for  a less  cause  than  martyrdom  man  and 
woman  should  leave  both  father  and  mother.0 

On  Easter  Sunday,  when  the  trial  had  been  long  proceeding, 
the  poor  girl  fell  so  ill  as  to  cause  a belief  that  she  had  been 
10  poisoned.  It  was  not  poison.  Nobody  had  any  interest  in 
hastening  a death  so  certain.  M.  Michelet,  whose  sympa- 
thies with  all  feelings  are  so  quick  that  one  would  gladly  see 
them  always  as  justly  directed,  reads  the  case  most  truly. 
Joanna  had  a twofold  malady.  She  was  visited  by  a parox- 
15  ysm  of  the  complaint  called  home-sickness.  The  cruel  nature 
of  her  imprisonment,  and  its  length,  could  not  but  point  her 
solitary  thoughts,  in  darkness  and  in  chains  (for 'chained  she 
was),  to  Domremy.  And  the  season,  which  was  the  most 
heavenly  period  of  the  spring,  added  stings  to  this  yearning. 
20  That  was  one  of  her  maladies  — nostalgia , as  medicine  calls 
it ; the  other  was  weariness  and  exhaustion  from  daily  com- 
bats with  malice.  She  saw  that  everybody  hated  her,  and 
thirsted  for  her  blood;  nay,  many  kind-hearted  creatures 
that  would  have  pitied  her  profoundly,  as  regarded  all  politi- 
25  cal  charges,  had  their  natural  feelings  warped  by  the  belief 
that  she  had  dealings  with  fiendish  powers.  She  knew  she 
was  to  die° ; that  was  not  the  misery : the  misery  was  that 
this  consummation  could  not  be  reached  without  so  much 
intermediate  strife,  as  if  she  were  contending  for  some  chance 
30  (where  chance  was  none)  of  happiness,  or  were  dreaming  for 
a moment  of  escaping  the  inevitable.  Why,  then,  did  she 
contend  ? Knowing  that  she  would  reap  nothing  from 
answering  her  persecutors,  why  did  she  not  retire  by  silence 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


27 


from  the  superfluous  contest?  It  was  because  her  quick 
and  eager  loyalty  to  truth  would  not  suffer  her  to  see  it 
darkened  by  frauds  which  she  could  expose,  but  others,  even 
of  candid  listeners,  perhaps,  could  not;  it  was  through  that 
imperishable  grandeur  of  soul  which  taught  her  to  submits 
meekly  and  without  a struggle  to  her  punishment,  but  taught 
her  not  to  submit  — no,  not  for  a moment  — to  calumny  as 
to  facts,  or  to  misconstruction  as  to  motives*  Besides,  there 
were  secretaries  all  around  the  court  taking  down  her  words. 
That  was  meant  for  no  good  to  her.  But  the  end  does  not  Id 
always  correspond  to  the  meaning.  And  Joanna  might  say 
to  herself,  “ These  words  that  will  be  used  against  me  to- 
morrow and  the  next  day  perhaps  in  some  nobler  generation 
may  rise  again  for  my  justification.”  Yes,  Joanna,  they  are 
rising  even  now  in  Paris,0  and  for  more  than  justification ! 15 

Woman,  sister,  there  are  some  things  which  you  do  not 
execute  as  well  as  your  brother,  man;  no,  nor  ever  will. 
Pardon  me  if  I doubt  whether  you  will  ever  produce  a great 
poet  from  your  choirs,  or  a Mozart,  or  a Phidias,  or  a Michael 
Angelo,0  or  a great  philosopher,  or  a great  scholar.  By  which  20 
last  is  msant  — not  one  who  depends  simply  on  an  infinite 
memory,  but  also  on  an  infinite  and  electrical  power  of  com- 
bination; bringing  together  from  the  four  winds,  like  the 
angel  of  the  resurrection,0  what  else  were  dust  from  dead 
men’s  bones,  into  the  unity  of  breathing  life.  If  you  can  25 
create  yourselves  into  any  of  these  great  creators,  why  have 
you  not  ? 

Yet,  sister  woman,  though  I cannot  consent  to  find  a Mo- 
zart or  a Michael  Angelo  in  your  sex,  cheerfully,  and  with  the 
love  that  burns  in  depths  of  admiration,  I acknowledge  that  30 
you  can  do  one  thing  as  well  as  the  best  of  us  men  — a greater 
thing  than  even  Milton0  is  known  to  have  done,  or  Michael 
Angelo : you  can  die  grandly,  and  as  goddesses  would  die, 


28  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


were  goddesses  mortal.  If  any  distant  worlds  (which  ma^ 
be  the  case)  are  so  far  ahead  of  us- Tellurians0  in  optical  re- 
sources as  to  see  distinctly  through  their  telescopes  all  that 
we  do  on  earth,  what  is  the  grandest  sight  to  which  we  ever 
5 treat  them  ? St.  Peter’s0  at  Rome,  do  you  fancy,  on  Easter 
Sunday,  or  Luxor,0  or  perhaps  the  Himalayas0?  Oh  no! 
my  friend : suggest  something  better ; these  are  baubles  to 
them ; they  see  in  other  worlds,  in  their  own,  far  better  toys 
of  the  same  kind.  These,  take  my  word  for  it,  are  nothing. 
10  Do  you  give  it  up  ? The  finest  thing,  then,  we  have  to  show 
them  is  a scaffold  on  the  morning  of  execution.  I assure  you 
there  is  a strong  muster  in  those  far  telescopic  worlds,  on  any 
such  morning,  of  those  who  happen  to  find  themselves  occu- 
pying the  right  hemisphere  for  a peep  at  us.  How,  then,  if 
15  it  be  announced  in  some  such  telescopic  world  by  those  who 
make  a livelihood  of  catching  glimpses  at  our  newspapers, 
whose  language  they  have  long  since  deciphered,  that  the 
poor  victim  in  the  morning’s  sacrifice  is  a woman?  How,  if 
it  be  published  in  that  distant  world  that  the  sufferer  wears 
20  upon  her  head,  in  the  eyes  of  many,  the  garlands  of  martyr- 
dom? How,  if  it  should  be  some  Marie  Antoinette,0  the 
widowed  queen,  coming  forward  on  the  scaffold,  and  present- 
ing to  the  morning  air  her  head,  turned  gray  by  sorrow,  — 
daughter  of  Caesars0  kneeling  down  humbly  to  kiss  the  guil- 
25lotine,  as  one  that  worships  death?  How,  if  it  were  the 
noble  Charlotte  Corday,0  that  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  that 
with  the  loveliest  of  persons,  that  with  homage  waiting  upon 
her  smiles  wherever  she  turned  her  face  to  scatter  them  — 
homage  that  followed  those  smiles  as  surely  as  the  carols  of 
30  birds,  after  showers  in  spring,  follow  the  reappearing  sun 
and  the  racing  of  sunbeams  over  the  hills  — yet  thought  all 
these  things  cheaper  than  the  dust  upon  her  sandals,  in 
comparison  of  deliverance  from  hell  for  her  dear  suffering 


;OAN  OF  ARC 


29 


France ! Ah ! these  were  spectacles  indeed  for  those  sym- 
pathising people  in  distant  worlds ; and  some,  perhaps,  would 
suffer  a sort  <n/f  martyrdom  themselves,  because  they  could 
not  testify  their  wrath,  could  not  bear  witness  to  the  strength 
of  love  and  to  the  fury  of  hatred  that  burned  within  them  5 
at  such  scenes,  could  not  gather  into  golden  urns  some  of  that 
glorious  dust  which  rested  in  the  catacombs  of  earth. 

On  the  Wednesday  after  Trinity  Sunday0  in  1431,  being 
then  about  nineteen  years  of  age,  the  Maid  of  Arc  underwent 
her  martyrdom.  She  was  conducted  before  mid-day,  guarded  10 
by  eight  hundred  spearmen,  to  a platform  of  prodigious 
height,  constructed  of  wooden  billets  supported  by  occasional 
walls  of  lath  and  plaster,  and  traversed  by  hollow  spaces  in 
every  direction  for  the  creation  of  air-currents.  The  pile 
“ struck  terror/7  says  M.  Michelet,  “by  its  height77;  and,  15 
as  usual,  the  English  purpose  in  this  is  viewed  as  one  of  pure 
malignity.0  But  there  are  two  ways  of  explaining  all  that. 

Tt  is  probable  that  the  purpose  was  merciful.  On  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  axecution  I shall  not  linger.  Yet,  to  mark 
the  almost  fatal  felicity  of  M.  Michelet  in  finding  out  what- 20 
ever  may  injure  the  English  name,  at  a moment  when  every 
reader  will  be  interested  in  Joanna7s  personal  appearance, 
it  is  really  edifying  to  notice  the  ingenuity  by  which  he  draws 
into  light0  from  a dark  corner  a very  unjust  account  of  it, 
and  neglects,  though  lying  upon  the  high-road,  a very  pleas-  25 
ing  one.  Both  are  from  English  pens.  Grafton,0  a chroni- 
cler, but  little  read,  being  a stiffnecked  John  Bull,0  thought 
fit  to  say  that  no  wonder  Joanna  should  be  a virgin,  since  her 
“foule  face77  was  a satisfactory  solution  of  that  particular 
merit.  Holinshead,0  on  the  other  hand,  a chronicler  some- 30 
what  later,  every  way  more  important,  and  at  one  time  uni- 
versally read,  has  given  a very  pleasing  testimony  to  the 
interesting  character  of  Joanna7s  person  and  engaging  man- 


30  THE  ESSAYS  OE  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


ners.  Neither  of  these  men  lived  till  the  following  century 
so  that  personally  this  evidence  is  none  at  all.  Grafton 
sullenly  and  carelessly  believed  as  he  wished  to  believe; 
Holinshead  took  pains  to  inquire,  and  reports  undoubtedly 
5 the  general  impression  of  France.  But  I cite  the  case  as 
illustrating  M.  Michelet’s  candour.0 

The  circumstantial  incidents  of  the  execution,  unless  with 
more  space  than  I can  now  command,  I should  be  unwilling 
to  relate.  I should  fear  to  injure,  by  imperfect  report,  a 
10  martyrdom  which  to  myself  appears  so  unspeakably  grand. 
Yet,  for  a purpose,  pointing  not  at  Joanna,  but  at  M.  Michelet 
— viz.  to  convince  him  that  an  Englishman  is  capable  of 
thinking  more  highly  of  La  Pucelle  than  even  her  admiring 
countrymen  — I shall,  in  parting,  allude  to  one  or  two  traits 
15  in  Joanna’s  demeanour  on  the  scaffold,  and  to  one  or  two  in 
that  of  the  bystanders,  which  authorise  me  in  questioning  an 
opinion  of  his°  upon  this  martyr’s  firmness.  The  reader 
ought  to  be  reminded  that  Joanna  D’Arc  was  subjected  to 
an  unusually  unfair  trial  of  opinion.  Any  of  the  elder  Chris- 
20  tian  martyrs  had  not  much  to  fear  of  personal  rancour.  The 
martyr  was  chiefly  regarded  as  the  enemy  of  Caesar;  at 
times,  also,  where  any  knowledge  of  the  Christian  faith  and 
morals  existed,  with  the  enmity  that  arises  spontaneously  in 
the  worldly  against  the  spiritual.  But  the  martyr,  though 
25  disloyal,  was  not  supposed  to  be  therefore  anti-national ; 
and  still  less  was  individually  hateful.  What  was  hated  (if 
anything)  belonged  to  his  class,  not  to  himself  separately. 
Now,  Joanna,  if  hated  at  all,  was  hated  personally,  and  in 
Rouen  on  national  grounds.  Hence  there  would  be  a cer- 
30  tainty  of  calumny  arising  against  her  such  as  would  not  affect 
martyrs  in  general.  That  being  the  case,  it  would  follow  of 
necessity  that  some  people  would  impute  to  her  a willingness 
to  recant.  No  innocence  could  escape  that.  Now,  had  she 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


31 


really  testified  this  willingness  on  the  scaffold,  it  would  have 
argued  nothing  at  all  but  the  weakness  of  a genial  nature 
shrinking  from  the  instant  approach  of  torment.  And  those 
will  often  pity  that  weakness  most  who,  in  their  own  persons, 
would  yield  to  it  least.  Meantime,  there  never  was  a calumny 
uttered  that  drew  less  support  from  the  recorded  circum- 
stances. It  rests  upon  no  positive  testimony,  and  it  has  a 
weight  of  contradicting  testimony  to  stem.  And  yet,  strange 
to  say,  M.  Michelet,  who  at  times  seems  to  admire  the  Maid 
of  Arc  as  much  as  I do,°  is  the  one  sole  writer  amongst  her 
friends  who  lends  some  countenance  to  this  odious  slander. 
His  words  are  that,  if  she  did  not  utter  this  word  recant  with 
her  lips,  she  uttered  it  in  her  heart.  “ Whether  she  said  the 
word  is  uncertain : but  I affirm  that  she  thought  it.”° 

Now,  I affirm  that  she  did  not;  not  in  any  sense  of  the 
word  “thought”  applicable  to  the  case.  Here  is  France 
calumniating  La  Pucelle:  here  is  England  defending  her. 
M.  Michelet  can  only  mean  that,  on  a priori  principles,0 
every  woman  must  be  presumed  liable  to  such  a weakness; 
that  Joanna  was  a woman;  ergo,°  that  she  was  liable  to  such 
a weakness.  That  is,  he  only  supposes  her  to  have  uttered 
the  word  by  an  argument  which  presumes  it  impossible  for 
anybody  to  have  done  otherwise.  I,  on  the  contrary,  throw 
the  onus ° of  the  argument  not  on  presumable  tendencies  of 
nature,  but  on  the  known  facts  of  that  morning’s  execution, 
as  recorded  by  multitudes.  What  else,  I demand,  than  mere 
weight  of  metal,0  absolute  nobility  of  deportment,  broke  the 
vast  line  of  battle  then  arrayed  against  her  ? What  else  but 
her  meek,  saintly  demeanour  won,  from  the  enemies  that 
till  now  had  believed  her  a witch,  tears  of  rapturous  admira- 
tion? “Ten  thousand  men/  says  M.  Michelet  himself  — 
“ten  thousand  men  wept”°;  and  of  these  ten  thousand  the 
mpjority  were  political  enemies  knitted  together  by  cords  of 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


32  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


superstition.  What  else  was  it  but  her  constancy,  united 
with  her  angelic  gentleness,  that  drove  the  fanatic  English 
soldier  — who  had  sworn  to  throw  a faggot  on  her  scaffold, 
as  his  tribute  of  abhorrence,  that  did  so,  that  fulfilled  his  vow 
5 — suddenly  to  turn  away  a penitent  for  life,  saying  every- 
where that  he  had  seen  a dove  rising  upon  wings  to  heaven 
from  the  ashes  where  she  had  stood?  What  else  drove  the 
executioner  to  kneel  at  every  shrine  for  pardon  to  his  share 
in  the  tragedy?  And,  if  all  this  were  insufficient,  then  I 
10  cite  the  closing  act  of  her  life  as  valid  on  her  behalf,  were  all 
other  testimonies  against  her.  The  executioner  had  been 
directed  to  apply  his  torch  from  below.  He  did  so.  The 
fiery  smoke  rose  upwards  in  billowing  volumes.  A Dominican 
monk  was  then  standing  almost  at  her  side.  Wrapped  up 
15  in  his  sublime  office,  he  saw  not  the  danger,  but  still  persisted 
in  his  prayers.  Even  then,  when  the  last  enemy  was  racing 
up  the  fiery  stairs  to  seize  her,  even  at  that  moment  did  this 
noblest  of  girls  think  only  for  him , the  one  friend  that  would 
not  forsake  her,  and  not  for  herself;  bidding  him  with  her 
20  last  breath  to  care  for  his  own  preservation,  but  to  leave  her 
to  God.  That  girl,  whose  latest  breath  ascended  in  this 
sublime  expression  of  self-oblivion,  did  not  utter  the  word 
recant  either  with  her  lips  or  in  her  heart.  Xo ; she  did  not, 
though  one  should  rise  from  the  dead0  to  swear  it. 

v ’ > vV.  mm  v ' * bmp  v * > 

/j*  ^ 

25  Bishop  of  Beauvais  ! thy  victim  died  in  fire  upon  a scaffold 
— thou  upon  a down  bed.°  But,  for  the  departing  minutes 
of  life,  both  are  oftentimes  alike.  At  the  farewell  crisis,  when 
the  gates  of  death  are  opening,  and  flesh  is  resting  from  its 
struggles,  oftentimes  the  tortured  and  the  torturer  have  the 
30 same  truce  from  carnal  torment;  both  sink  together  into 
sleep;  together  both  sometimes  kindle  into  dreams.  When 
the  mortal  mists  were  gathering  fast  upon  you  two,  bishop 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


33 


and  shepherd  girl  — when  the  pavilions  of  life  were  closing 
up  their  shadowy  curtains  about  you  — let  us  try,  through 
the  gigantic  glooms,  to  decipher  the  flying  features  of  youi 
separate  visions. 

The  shepherd  girl  that  had  delivered  France  — she,  from* 
her  dungeon,  she,  from  her  baiting  at  the  stake,  she,  from  her 
duel  with  fire,  as  she  entered  her  last  dream  — saw  Domremy, 
saw  the  fountain  of  Domremy,  saw  the  pomp  of  forests  in 
which  her  childhood  had  wandered.  That  Easter  festival 
which  man  had  denied  to  her  languishing  heart  — that  resur- 10 
rection  of  spring-time,  which  the  darkness  of  dungeons  had 
intercepted  from  her , hungering  after  the  glorious  liberty  of 
forests  — were  by  God  given  back  into  her  hands,  as  jewels 
that  had  been  stolen  from  her  by  robbers.  With  those,  per- 
haps (for  the  minutes  of  dreams  can  stretch  into  ages0),  was  15 
given  back  to  her  by  God  the  bliss  of  childhood.0  By  special 
privilege  for  her  might  be  created,  in  this  farewell  dream,  a 
second  childhood,  innocent  as  the  first;  but  not,  like  that, 
sad  with  the  gloom  of  a fearful  mission  in  the  rear.  This 
mission  had  now  been  fulfilled.  The  storm  was  weathered; 20 
the  skirts  even  of  that  mighty  storm  were  drawing  off.  The 
blood  that  she  was  to  reckon  for  had  been  exacted ; the  tears 
that  she  was  to  shed  in  secret  had  been  paid  to  the  last.  The 
hatred  to  herself  in  all  eyes  had  been  faced  steadily,  had  been 
suffered,  had  been  survived.  And  in  her  last  fight  upon  the  25 
scaffold  she  had  triumphed  gloriously;  victoriously  she  had 
tasted  the  stings  of  death.0  For  all,  except  this  comfort 
from  her  farewell  dream,  she  had  died  — died,  amidst  the 
tears  of  ten  thousand  enemies  — died,  amidst  the  drums  and 
trumpets  of  armies0  — died,  amidst  peals  redoubling  upon  30 
peals,  volleys  upon  volleys,  from  the  saluting  clarions  of 
martyrs. 

Bishop  of  Beauvais ! because  the  guilt-burdened  man  is 

i> 


34 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


in  dreams  haunted  and  waylaid  by  the  most  frightful  of  his 
crimes,  and  because  upon  that  fluctuating  mirror  — rising 
(like  the  mocking  mirrors  of  mirage  in  Arabian  deserts)  from 
the  fens  of  death  — most  of  all  are  reflected  the  sweet  coun- 
5 tenances  which  the  man  has  laid  in  ruins ; therefore  I know, 
bishop,  that  you  also,  entering  your  final  dream,  saw  Dom- 
remy.  That  fountain,  of  which  the  witnesses  spoke  so  much, 
showed  itself  to  your  eyes  in  pure  morning  dews  : but  neither 
dews,  nor  the  holy  dawn,  could  cleanse  away  the  bright  spots 
10  of  innocent  blood  upon  its  surface.  By  the  fountain,  bishop, 
you  saw  a woman  seated,  that  hid  her  face.  But,  as  you 
draw  near,  the  woman  raises  her  wasted  features.  Would 
Domremy  know  them  again  for  the  features  of  her  child? 
Ah,  but  you  know  them,  bishop,  well ! Oh,  mercy ! what  a 
15  groan  was  that  which  the  servants,  waiting  outside  the  bishop  s 
dream  at  his  bedside,  heard  from  his  labouring  heart,  as  at  this 
moment  he  turned  away  from  the  fountain  and  the  woman, 
seeking  rest  in  the  forests  afar  off.  Yet  not  so  to  escape  the 
woman,  whom  once  again  he  must  behold  before  he  dies.  In 
20  the  forests  to  which  he  prays  for  pity,  will  he  find  a respite  ? 
What  a tumult,  what  a gathering  of  feet  is  there  ! In  glades 
where  only  wild  deer  should  run  armies  and  nations  are  as- 
sembling; towering  in  the  fluctuating  crowd  are  phantoms 
that  belong  to  departed  hours.  There  is  the  great  English 
25  Prince,  Regent  of  France.0  There  is  my  Lord  of  Winchester, 
the  princely  cardinal,  that  died  and  made  no  sign.0  There  is 
the  Bishop  of  Beauvais,  clinging  to  the  shelter  of  thickets. 
What  building  is  that  which  hands  so  rapid  are  raising?  Is 
it  a martyr’s  scaffold  ? Will  they  burn  the  child  of  Domremy 
30  a second  time  ? No  : it  is  a tribunal  that  rises  to  the  clouds ; 
and  two  nations  stand  around  it,  waiting  for  a trial.  Shall 
my  Lord  of  Beauvais  sit  again  upon  the  judgment-seat,  and 
again  number  the  hours  for  the  innocent  ? Ah  no  ! he  is  the 


JOAN  OF  ARC 


35 


prisoner  at  the  bar.  Already  all  is  waiting:  the  mighty 
audience  is  gathered,  the  Court  is  hurrying  to  their  seats,  the 
witnesses  are  arrayed,  the  trumpets  are  sounding,  the  judge 
is  taking  his  place.  Oh  ! but  this  is  sudden.  My  lord,  have 
you  no  counsel?  “ Counsel  I have  none:  in  heaven  above,  5 
or  on  earth  beneath,0  counsellor  there  is  none  now  that  would 
take  a brief  from  me° : all  are  silent. ” Is  it,  indeed,  come 
to  this?  lAlas ! the  time  is  short,  the  tumult  is  wondrous, 
the  crowd  stretches  away  into  infinity ; but  yet  I will  search 
in  it  for  somebody  to  take  your  brief : I know  of  somebody  1C 
that  will  be  your  counsel.  Who  is  this  that  cometh  from 
Domremy0?  Who  is  she  in  bloody  coronation  robes  from 
Rheims0?  Who  is  she  that  cometh  with  blackened  flesh 
from  walking  the  furnaces  of  Rouen  ? This  is  she,  the  shep- 
herd girl,  counsellor  that  had  none  for  herself,  whom  I choose,  15 
bishop,  for  yours.  She  it  is,  I engage,  that  shall  take  my 
lord’s  brief.  She  it  is,  bishop,  that  would  plead  for  you: 
yes,  bishop,  she,  — when  heaven  and  earth  are  silent. 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH0 


Section  I — The  Glory  of  Motion 

Some  twenty  or  more  years  before  I matriculated  at  Ox~ 
ford,°  Mr.  Palmer,0  at  that  time  M.P.  for  Bath,  had  accom- 
plished two  things,  very  hard  to  do  on  our  little  planet,  the 
Earth,  however  cheap  they  may  be  held  by  eccentric0  people 
5 in  comets  : he  had  invented  mail-coaches,  and  he  had  married 
the  daughter  of  a duke.°  He  was,  therefore,  just  twice  as 
great  a man  as  Galileo,0  who  did  certainly  invent  (or,  which 
is  the  same  thing,0  discover)  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  those 
very  next  things  extant  to  mail-coaches  in  the  two  capital 
A-10  pretensions  of  speed  and  keeping  time,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  did  not  marry  the  daughter  of  a duke.° 

These  mail-coaches,  as  organised  by  Mr.  Palmer,  are  en- 
titled to  a circumstantial  notice  from  myself,  having  had  so 
large  a share  in  developing  the  anarchies  of  my  subsequent 
15  dreams : an  agency  which  they  accomplished,  1st,  through 
velocity  at  that  time  unprecedented  — for  they  first  revealed 
the  glory  of  motion ; 2dly,  through  grand  effects  for  the  eye 
between  lamp-light  and  the  darkness  upon  solitary  roads; 
3dly,  through  animal  beauty  and  power  so  often  displayed 
20 in  the  class  of  horses  selected  for  this  mail  service;  4thly, 
through  the  conscious  presence  of  a central  intellect,  that,  in 
the  midst  of  vast  distances0  — of  storms,  of  darkness,  of 
danger  — overruled  all  obstacles  into  one  steady  co-operation 
to  a national  result.  For  my  own  feeling,  this  post-office 
25  service  spoke  as  by  some  mighty  orchestra,  where  a thousand 

36 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


37 


instruments,  all  disregarding  each  other,  and  so  far  in  danger 
of  discord,  yet  all  obedient  as  slaves  to  the  supreme  baton  of 
some  great  leader,  terminate  in  a perfection  of  harmony  like 
that  of  heart,  brain,  and  lungs  in  a healthy  animal  organisa- 
tion.0 But,  finally,  that  particular  element  in  this  wholes 
combination  which  most  impressed  myself,  and  through 
which  it  is  that  to  this  hour  Mr.  Palmer’s  mail-coach  system 
tyrannises  over  my  dreams  by  terror  and  terrific  beauty,  lay 
in  the  awful  political  mission  which  at  that  time  it  fulfilled. 
The  mail-coach  it  was  that  distributed  over  the  face  of  the  k 
land,  like  the  opening  of  apocalyptic  vials,0  the  heart-shaking0 
news  of  Trafalgar,0  of  Salamanca,0  of  Vittoria,0  of  Waterloo.0 
These  were  the  harvests  that,  in  the  grandeur  of  their  reaping, 
redeemed  the  tears  and  blood  in  which  they  had  been  sown.  . 
Neither  was  the  meanest  peasant  so  much  below  the  grandeur  15 
and  the  sorrow  of  the  times  as  to  confound  battles  such  as 
these,  which  were  gradually  moulding  the  destinies  of  Chris- 
tendom, with  the  vulgar  conflicts  of  ordinary  warfare,  so 
often  no  more  than  gladiatorial  trials  of  national  prowess. 
The  victories  of  England  in  this  stupendous  contest  rose  of  2C 
themselves  as  natural  Te  Deums°  to  heaven ; and  it  was  felt 
by  the  thoughtful  that  such  victories,  at  such  a crisis  of  gen- 
eral prostration,0  were  not  more  beneficial  to  ourselves  than 
finally  to  France,  our  enemy,  and  to  the  nations  of  all  western 
or  central  Europe,  through  whose  pusillanimity  it  was  that  2c 
the  French  domination  had  prospered.0 

The  mail-coach,  as  the  national  organ  for  publishing  these 
mighty  events,  thus  diffusively  influential,  became  itself  a 
spiritualised  and  glorified  object  to  an  impassioned  heart; 
and  naturally,  in  the  Oxford  of  that  day,  all  hearts  were  im-30 
passioned,  as  being  all  (or  nearly  all)  in  early  manhood.  In 
most  universities  there  is  one  single  college0 ; in  Oxford  there 
were  five-and-twenty,°  all  of  which  were  peopled  by  young 


38  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 

men,  the  elite  of  their  own  generation;  not  boys,  but  men; 
none  under  eighteen.  In  some  of  these  many  colleges  the 
custom  permitted  the  student  to  keep  what  are  called  “short 
terms  ”;  that  is,  the  four  terms  of  Michaelmas,  Lent,  Easter, 
5 and  Act,°  were  kept  by  a residence,  in  the  aggregate,  of 
ninety-one  days,  or  thirteen  weeks.  Under  this  interrupted 
residence,  it  was  possible  that  a student  might  have  a reason 
for  going  down  to  his  home  four  times  in  the  year.  This 
made  eight  journeys  to  and  fro.  But,  as  these  homes  lay 
10  dispersed  through  all  the  shires  of  the  island,  and  most  of  us 
disdained  all  coaches  except  his  majesty’s  mail,  no  city  out  of 
London  could  pretend  to  so  extensive  a connexion  with  Mr. 
Palmer’s  establishment  as  Oxford.  Three  mails,  at  the  least, 
I remember  as  passing  every  day  through  Oxford,  and  bene- 
15  fiting  bv  my  personal  patronage  — viz.  the  Worcester,  the 
Gloucester,  and  the  Holyhead  mail.0  Naturally,  therefore, 
it  became  a point  of  some  interest  with  us,  whose  journeys 
revolved0  every  six  weeks  on  an  average,  to  look  a little  into 
the  executive  details  of  the  system.  With  some  of  these  Mr. 
20  Palmer  had  no  concern ; they  rested  upon  bye-laws  enacted 
by  posting-houses0  for  their  own  benefit,  and  upon  other  bye- 
laws, equally  stern,  enacted  by  the  inside  passengers  for  the 
illustration  of  their  own  haughty  exclusiveness.  These  last 
were  of  a nature  to  rouse  our  scorn;  from  which  the  tran- 
25  sition  was  not  very  long  to  systematic  mutiny.  Up  to  this 
time,  say  1804,  or  1805  (the  year  of  Trafalgar),  it  had  been 
the  fixed  assumption  of  the  four  inside  people  (as  an  old  tra- 
dition of  all  public  carriages  derived  from  the  reign  of  Charles 
11°)  that  they,  the  illustrious  quaternion,  constituted  a por- 
30  celain  variety  of  the  human  race,  whose  dignity  would  have 
been  compromised  by  exchanging  one  word  of  civility  with 
the  three  miserable  delf-ware°  outsides.  Even  to  have  kicked 
an  outsider  might  have  been  held  to  attaint0  the  foot  con 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


39 


cerned  in  that  operation,  so  that,  perhaps,  it  would  have  re- 
quired an  act  of  Parliament  to  restore  its  purity  of  blood. 
What  words,  then,  could  express  the  horror,  and  the  sense  of 
treason,  in  that  case,  which  had  happened,  where  all  three 
outsides  (the  trinity  of  Pariahs0)  made  a vain  attempt  to  sit  5 
down  at  the  same  breakfast-table  or  dinner-table  with  the 
consecrated  four  ? I myself  witnessed  such  an  attempt ; and 
on  that  occasion  a benevolent  old  gentleman  endeavoured  to 
soothe  his  three  holy  associates,  by  suggesting  that,  if  the 
outsides  were  indicted  for  this  criminal  attempt  at  the  next  IQ 
assizes,  the  court  would  regard  it  as  a case  of  lunacy  or  de- 
lirium tremens  rather  than  of  treason.  England  owes  much 
of  her  grandeur  to  the  depth  of  the  aristocratic  element  in 
her  social  composition,  when  pulling  against  her  strong  de- 
mocracy. I am  not  the  man  to  laugh  at  it.  But  sometimes,  15 
undoubtedly,  it  expressed  itself  in  comic  shapes.  The  course 
taken  with  the  infatuated  outsiders,  in  the  particular  attempt 
which  I have  noticed,  was  that  the  waiter,  beckoning  them 
•away  from  the  privileged  salle-d-manger,°  sang  out,  “This 
way,  my  good  men/7  and  then  enticed  these  good  men  awray20 
to  the  kitchen.  But  that  plan  had  not  always  answered. 
Sometimes,  though  rarely,  cases  occurred  where  the  intruders, 
being  stronger  than  usual,  or  more  vicious  than  usual,  reso- 
lutely refused  to  budge,  and  so  far  carried  their  point  as  to 
have  a separate  table  arranged  for  themselves  in  a corner  of  25 
the  general  room.  Yet,  if  an  Indian  screen  could  be  found 
ample  enough  to  plant  them  out  from  the  very  eyes  of  the 
high  table,  or  dais , it  then  became  possible  to  assume  as  a 
fiction  of  law  that  the  three  delf  fellows,  after  all,  were  not 
present.  They  could  be  ignored  by  the  porcelain  men,  under  3(f 
the  maxim  that  objects  not  appearing  and  objects  not  existing 
are  governed  by  the  same  logical  construction.0  / 

Such  being,  at  that  time,  the  usage  of  mail-coaches,  what 


40  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


was  to  be  done  by  us  of  young  Oxford?  We,  the  most  aris- 
tocratic  of  people,  who  were  addicted  to  the  practice  of  look- 
ing down  superciliously  even  upon  the  insides  themselves 
as  often  very  questionable  characters  — were  we,  by  volunta- 
6 rily  going  outside,  to  court  indignities  ? If  our  dress  and  bear-  * 
ing  sheltered  us  generally  from  the  suspicion  of  being  “raff  ”° 
(the  name  at  that  period  for  “ snobs  ”°),  we  really  were  such 
constructively  by  the  place  we  assumed.  If  we  did  not  sub- 
mit to  the  deep  shadow  of  eclipse,  we  entered  at  least  the 
10  skirts  of  its  penumbra.  And  the  analogy  of  theatres  was 
valid  against  us,  — where  no  man  can  complain  of  the  an- 
noyances incident  to  the  pit  or  gallery,0  having  his  instant 
remedy  in  paying  the  higher  price  of  the  boxes.  But  the 
soundness  of  this  analogy  we  disputed.  In  the  case  of  the 
15  theatre,  it  cannot  be  pretended  that  the  inferior  situations 
have  any  separate  attractions,  unless  the  pit  may  be  supposed 
to  have  an  advantage  for  the  purposes  of  the  critic  or  the 
dramatic  reporter.  But  the  critic  or  reporter  is  a rarity. 
For  most  people,  the  sole  benefit  is  in  the  price.  Now,  on 
20  the  contrary,  the  outside  of  the  mail  had  its  own  incom- 
municable advantages.  These  we  could  not  forgo.  The 
higher  price  we  would  willingly  have  paid,  but  not  the  price 
connected  with  the  condition  of  riding  inside;  which  con- 
dition we  pronounced  insufferable.  The  air,  the  freedom  of 
25  prospect,  the  proximity  to  the  horses,  the  elevation  of  seat : 
these  were  what  we  required;  but,  above  all,  the  certain 
anticipation  of  purchasing  occasional  opportunities  of  driving. 

Such  was  the  difficulty  which  pressed  us;  and  under  the 
\ coercion  of  this  difficulty  we  instituted  a searching  inquiry 
30  into  the  true  quality  and  valuation  of  the  different  apartments 
about  the  mail.  We  conducted  this  inquiry  on  metaphysical 
principles ; and  it  was  ascertained  satisfactorily  that  the  roof 
of  the  coach,  which  by  some  weak  men  had  been  called  the 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


41 


attics,  and  by  some  the  garrets,0  was  in  reality  the  drawing- 
room ; in  which  drawing-room  the  box  was  the  chief  ottoman 
or  sofa;  whilst  it  appeared  that  the  inside , which  had  been 

traditionally  regarded  as  the  only  room  tenantable  by  gen- 

tlemen,  was,  in  fact,  the  coal-cellar  in  disguise.  5 

Great  wits  jump.0  The  very  same  idea  had  not  long  before 
struck  the  celestial  intellect  of  China.0  Amongst  the  presents 
carried  out  by  our  first  embassy  to  that  country  was  a state- 
coach.  It  had  been  specially  selected  as  a personal  gift  by 
George  111° ; but  the  exact  mode  of  using  it  was  an  intense  10 
mystery  to  Pekin.0  The  ambassador,  indeed  (Lord  Macart- 
ney0), had  made  some  imperfect  explanations  upon  this  point ; 
but,  as  His  Excellency  communicated  these  in  a diplomatic 
whisper  at  the  very  moment  of  his  departure,  the  celestial 
intellect  was  very  feebly  illuminated,  and  it  became  necessary  15 
to  call  a cabinet  council  on  the  grand  state  question,  “ Where 
was  the  Emperor0  to  sit  ?”  The  hammer-cloth0  happened  to 
be  unusually  gorgeous;  and,  partly  on  that  consideration, 
but  partly  also  because  the  box  offered  the  most  elevated 
seat,  was  nearest  to  the  moon,°  and  undeniably  went  fore- 20 
most,  it  was  resolved  by  acclamation  that  the  box  was  the 
imperial  throne,  and,  for  the  scoundrel  who  drove,  — he 
might  sit  where  he  could  find  a perch.  The  horses,  therefore, 
being  harnessed,  solemnly  his  imperial  majesty  ascended  his 
new  English  throne  under  a flourish  of  trumpets,  having  the  25 
first  lord  of  the  treasury0  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  chief 
jester  on  his  left.  Pekin  gloried  in  the  spectacle ; and  in  the 
whole  flowery  people,0  constructively  present  by  representa- 
tion, there  was  but  one  discontented  person,  and  that  was  the 
coachman.  This  mutinous  individual  audaciously  shouted,  30 
u Where  am  I to  sit?”  But  the  privy  council,  incensed  by 
his  disloyalty,  unanimously  opened  the  door,  and  kicked  him 
into  the  inside.  He  had  all  the  inside  places  to  himself ; but 


42  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUIXCEY 


such  is  the  rapacity  of  ambition  that  he  was  still  dissatisfied 
‘*1  say,"  he  cried  out  in  an  extempore  petition  addressed  to 
the  Emperor  through  the  window  — “I  say,  how  am  I to 
catch  hold  of  the  reins?”  — “Anyhow,”  was  the  imperial 
5 answer;  “don’t  trouble  me,  man,  in  my  glory.  How  catch 
the  reins?  Why,  through  the  windows,  through  the  keV- 

* — r " nr 

holes  — anyhow."  Finally  this  contumacious  coachman 
lengthened  the  check-strings  into  a sort  of  jury- reins c com- 
municating with  the  horses ; with  these  he  drove  as  steadily 
10  as  Pekin  had  any  right  to  expect.  The  Emperor  returned 
after  the  briefest  of  circuits;  he  descended  in  great  pomp 
from  his  throne,  with  the  severest  resolution  never  to  remount 
it.  A public  thanksgiving  was  ordered  for  his  majesty's 
happy  escape  from  the  disease  of  broken  neck;  and  the 
15  state-coach  was  dedicated  thenceforward  as  a votive  offering 
to  the  god  Fo  Fo  — whom  the  learned  more  accuratelv 
called  Fi  Fi.°  \ 

A revolution  of  this  same  Chinese  character  did  young 
Oxford  of  that  era  effect  in  the  constitution  of  mail-coach 
30 society.  It  was  a perfect  French  Revolution3;  and  we  had 
good  reason  to  say.  ca  ira.°  In  fact,  it  soon  became  too 
popular.  The  “public"  — a well-known  character,  particu- 
larly disagreeable,  though  slightly  respectable,  and  notorious 
for  affecting  the  chief  seats  in  synagogues0  — had  at  first 
25 loudly  opposed  this  revolution;  but,  when  the  oppositibn 
showed  itself  to  be  ineffectual,  our  disagreeable  friend  went 
into  it  with  headlong  zeal.  At  first  it  was  a sort  of  race 
between  us;  and,  as  the  public  is  usually  from  thirty  to 
fifty  years  old.  naturally  we  of  young  Oxford,  that  averaged 
30  about  twenty,  had  the  advantage.  Then  the  public  took 
to  bribing,  giving  fees  to  horse-keepers,  Ac.,  who  hired  out 
their  persons  as  warming-pans  on  the  box-seat.  _ That , 
vou  know,  was  shocking  to  all  moral  sensibilities.  Come  to 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


43 


bribery,  said  we,  and  there  is  an  end  to  all  morality,  — Aris- 
totle’s, Zeno’s,  Cicero’s,  or  anybody’s.0  And,  besides,  of 
what  use  was  it?  For  we  bribed  also.  And,  as  our  bribes, 
to  those  of  the  public,  were  as  five  shillings  to  sixpence, 
here  again  young  Oxford  had  the  advantage.  But  the  5 
contest  was  ruinous  to  the  principles  of  the  stables  con- 
nected with  the  mails.  This  whole  corporation  was 
constantly  bribed,  rebribed,  and  often  sur-rebribed° ; 
a mail-coach  yard  was  like  the  hustings  in  a contested 
election0 ; and  a horse-keeper,  ostler,  or  helper,  was  held  by  10 
the  philosophical  at  that  time  to  be  the  most  corrupt  char- 
acter in  the  nation. 

There  was  an  impression  upon  the  public  mind,  natural 
enough  from  the  continually  augmenting  velocity  of  the 
mail,  but  quite  erroneous,  that  an  outside  seat  on  this  class  15 
of  carriages  was  a post  of  danger.  On  the  contrary,  I main- 
tained that,  if  a man  had  become  nervous  from  some  gipsy 
prediction  in  his  childhood,  allocating  to  a particular  moon 
now  approaching  some  unknown  danger,  and  he  should 
inquire  earnestly,  “ Whither  can  I fly  for  shelter?  Is  a 20 
prison  the  safest  retreat?  or  a lunatic  hospital?  or  the 
British  Museum0?”  I should  have  replied,  “Oh  no;  I’ll 
tell  you  what  to  do.  Take  lodgings  for  the  next  forty  days 
on  the  box  of  his  majesty’s  mail.  Nobody  can  touch  you 
there.  If  it  is  by  bills  at  ninety  days  after  date  that  you  25 
are  made  unhappy  — if  noters  and  protesters0  are  the  sort  of 
wretches  whose  astrological  shadows  darken  the  house  of 
life0  — then  note  you  what  I vehemently  protest : viz.  that, 
no  matter  though  the  sheriff  and  under-sheriff  in  every 
county  should  be  running  after  you  with  his  posse,0  touch  a 30 
hair  of  your  head  he  cannot  whilst  you  keep  house  and  have 
your  legal  domicile  on  the  box  of  the  mail.  It  is  felony  to 
stop  the  mail;  even  the  sheriff  cannot  do  that.  And  an 


44  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  T 


extra  touch  of  the  whip  to  the  leaders  (no  great  matter  if  it 
grazes  the  sheriff)  at  any  time  guarantees  your  safety.''  In 
fact,  a bedroom  in  a quiet  house  seems  a safe  enough  retreat ; 
yet  it  is  liable  to  its  own  notorious  nuisances  — to  robbers  by 
5 night,  to  rats,  to  fire.  But  the  mail  laughs  at  these  terrors. 
To  robbers,  the  answer  is  packed  up  and  ready  for  delivery 
in  the  barrel  of  the  guard's  blunderbuss.  Rats  again ! 
there  are  none  about  mail-coaches,  any  more  than  snakes  in 
Von  Troil's  Iceland0;  except,  indeed,  now  and  then  a 
10  parliamentary  rat,°  who  always  hides  his  shame  in  what  I 
have  shown  to  be  the  “ coal-cellar."  And,  as  to  fire,  I never 
knew  but  one  in  a mail-coach ; which  was  in  the  Exeter  mail, 
and  caused  by  an  obstinate  sailor  bound  to  Devonport. 
Jack,  making  light  of  the  law  and  the  lawgiver  that  had 
15  set  their  faces  against  his  offence,  insisted  on  taking  up  a 
forbidden  seat0  in  the  rear  of  the  roof,  from  which  he  could 
exchange  his  own  yarns  with  those  of  the  guard.  Xo  greater 
offence  was  then  known  to  mail-coaches;  it  was  treason,  it 
was  Icesa  majestas°  it  was  by  tendency  arson;  and  the  ashes 
20  of  Jack's  pipe,  falling  amongst  the  straw  of  the  hinder  boot, 
containing  the  mail-bags,  raised  a flame  which  (aided  by  the 
wind  of  our  motion)  threatened  a revolution  in  the  republic 
of  letters.  Yet  even  this  left  the  sanctity  of  the  box  unvio- 
lated. In  dignified  repose,  the  coachman  and  myself  sat  on, 
25  resting  with  benign  composure  upon  our  knowledge  that  the 
fire  would  have  to  burn  its  way  through  four  inside  pas- 
sengers before  it  could  reach  ourselves.  I remarked  to  the 
coachman,  with  a quotation  from  Virgil's  JEneid  really  too 

hackneyed  — m _ 

u Jam  proximus  ardet 

Ucalegon.”0 

But,  recollecting  that  the  Virgilian  part  of  the  coachman's 
education  might  have  been  neglected,  I interpreted  so  far  as 


30 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


45 


to  say  that  perhaps  at  that  moment  the  flames  were  catching 
hold  of  our  worthy  brother  and  inside  passenger,  Ucalegon. 
The  coachman  made  no  answer,  — which  is  my  own  way 
when  a stranger  addresses  me  either  in  Syriac  or  in  Coptic; 
but  by  his  faint  sceptical  smile  he  seemed  to  insinuate  that  he 
knew  better,  — for  that  Ucalegon,  as  it  happened,  was  not 
in  the  way-bill,  and  therefore  could  not  have  been  booked.0 

No  dignity  is  perfect  which  does  not  at  some  point  ally 
itself  with  the  mysterious.  The  connexion  of  the  mail  with 
the  state  and  the  executive  government  — a connexion 
obvious,  but  yet  not  strictly  defined  — gave  to  the  whole 
mail  establishment  an  official  grandeur  which  did  us  service 
on  the  roads,  and  invested  us  with  seasonable  terrors.  Not 
the  less  impressive  were  those  terrors  because  their  legal 
limits  were  imperfectly  ascertained.  Look  at  those  turn- 
pike gates : with  what  deferential  hurry,  with  what  an 
obedient  start,  they  fly  open  at  our  approach ! Look  at 
that  long  line  of  carts  and  carters  ahead,  audaciously  usurp- 
ing the  very  crest  of  the  road.  Ah ! traitors,  they  do  not 
hear  us  as  yet ; but,  as  soon  as  the  dreadful  blast  of  our  horn 
reaches  them  with  proclamation  of  our  approach,  see  with 
what  frenzy  of  trepidation  they  fly  to  their  horses'  heads, 
and  deprecate  our  wrath  by  the  precipitation  of  their  crane- 
neck  quarterings.0  Treason  they  feel  to  be  their  crime; 
each  individual  carter  feels  himself  under  the  ban  of  con- 
fiscation and  attainder;  his  blood  is  attainted  through  six 
generations ; and  nothing  is  wanting  but  the  headsman  and 
his  axe,  the  block  and  the  sawdust,  to  close  up  the  vista  of 
his  horrors.  What ! shall  it  be  within  benefit  of  clergy0  to 
delay  the  king's  message  on  the  high-road  ? — to  interrupt 
the  great  respirations,  ebb  and  flood,  systole  and  diastole , of 
the  national  intercourse  ? — to  endanger  the  safety  of  tidings 
running  day  and  night  between  all  nations  and  languages? 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


46  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


Or  can  it  be  fancied,  amongst  the  weakest  of  men,  that  the 
bodies  of  the  criminals  will  be  given  up  to  their  widows  for 
Christian  burial?  Now,  the  doubts  which  were  raised  as  to 
our  powers  did  more  to  wrap  them  in  terror,  by  wrapping 
5 them  in  uncertainty,  than  could  have  been  effected  by  the 
sharpest  definitions  of  the  law  from  the  Quarter  Sessions.0 
We,  on  our  parts  (we,  the  collective  mail,  I mean),  did  our 
utmost  to  exalt  the  idea  of  our  privileges  by  the  inso- 
lence with  which  we  wielded  them.  Whether  this  insolence 
10  rested  upon  law  that  gave  it  a sanction,  or  upon  conscious 
power  that  haughtily  dispensed  with  that  sanction,  equally 
it  spoke  from  a potential  station;  and  the  agent,  in  each 
particular  insolence  of  the  moment,  was  viewed  reverentially, 
as  one  having  authority.0 

15  Sometimes  after  breakfast  his  majesty's0  mail  would  be- 
come frisky;  and,  in  its  difficult  wheelings  amongst  the 
intricacies  of  early  markets,  it  would  upset  an  apple-cart,  a 
cart  loaded  with  eggs,  &c.  Huge  was  the  affliction  and 
dismay,  awful  was  the  smash.  I,  as  far  as  possible,  endeav- 
20  oured  in  such  a case  to  represent  the  conscience  and  moral 
sensibilities  of  the  mail;  and,  when  wildernesses  of  eggs 
were  lying  poached0  under  our  horses'  hoofs,  then  would  I 
stretch  forth  my  hands  in  sorrow,  saying  (in  words  too 
celebrated  at  that  time,  from  the  false  echoes0  of  Marengo), 
25  “Ah!  wherefore  have  we  not  time  to  weep  over  you?"  — 
which  was  evidently  impossible,  since,  in  fact,  we  had  not 
time  to  laugh  over  them.  Tied  to  post-office  allowance  in 
some  cases  of  fifty  minutes  for  eleven  miles,  could  the  royal 
mail  pretend  to  undertake  the  offices  of  sympathy  and 
30  condolence  ? Could  it  be  expected  to  provide  tears  for  the 
accidents  of  the  road?  If  even  it  seemed  to  trample  on 
humanity,  it  did  so,  I felt,  'in  discharge  of  its  own  more 
peremptory  duties,  t jr 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


47 


Upholding  the  morality  of  the  mail,  a fortiori0  I upheld 
its  rights ; as  a matter  of  duty,  I stretched  to  the  uttermost 
its  privilege  of  imperial  precedency,  and  astonished  weak 
minds  by  the  feudal  powers  which  I hinted  to  be  lurking 
constructively  in  the  charters  of  this  proud  establishment.  5 
Once  I remember  being  on  the  box  of  the  Holyhead  mail, 
between  Shrewsbury  and  Oswestry,0  when  a tawdry  thing 
4rom  Birmingham,0  some  “Tallyho”  or  “Highflyer,”0  all 
flaunting  with  green  and  gold,  came  up  alongside  of  us. 
What  a contrast  to  our  royal  simplicity  of  form  and  colour  1(3 
in  this  plebeian  wretch ! The  single  ornament  on  our  dark 
ground  of  chocolate  colour  was  the  mighty  shield  of  the  im- 
perial arms,  but  emblazoned  in  proportions  as  modest  as  a 
signet-ring  bears  to  a seal  of  office.  Even  this  was  displayed 
only  on  a single  panel,  whispering,  rather  than  proclaiming,  15 
our  relations  to  the  mighty  state;  whilst  the  beast  from 
Birmingham,  our  green-and-gold  friend  from  false,  fleeting, 
perjured  Brummagem,0  had  as  much  writing  and  painting  on 
its  sprawling  flanks  as  would  have  puzzled  a decipherer  from 
the  tombs  of  Luxor.0  For  some  time  this  Birmingham  2G 
machine  ran  along  by  our  side  — a piece  of  familiarity  that 
already  of  itself  seemed  to  me  sufficiently  jacobinical.0  But 
all  at  once  a movement  of  the  horses  announced  a desperate 
intention  of  leaving  us  behind.  “Do  you  see  that?”  I said 
to  the  coachman.  — “I  see, ” was  his  short  answer.  He  was 25 
wide  awake,  — yet  he  waited  longer  than  seemed  prudent ; 
ffor  the  horses  of  our  audacious  opponent  had  a disagreeable 
air  of  freshness  and  power.  But  his  motive  was  loyal;  his 
wish  was  that  the  Birmingham  conceit  should  be  full-blown 
before  he  froze  it.  When  that  seemed  right.,  he  unloosed,  or,  3G 
to  speak  by  a stronger  word,  he  sprang,  his  known  resources : 
he  slipped  our  royal  horses  like  cheetahs,  or  hunting-leopards, 
after  the  affrighted  game.  How  they  could  retain  such  a 


48  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE i 


reserve  of  fiery  power  after  the  work  they  had  accomplished 
seemed  hard  to  explain.  But  on  our  side,  besides  the 
physical  superiority,  was  a tower  of  moral  strength,  namely 
the  king's  name,  “ which  they  upon  the  adverse  faction 
l wanted."0  Passing  them  without  an  effort,  as  it  seemed,  we 
threw  them  into  the  rear  with  so  lengthening  an  interval 
between  us  as  proved  in  itself  the  bitterest  mockery  of  their 
presumption ; whilst  our  guard  blew  back  a shattering  blast 
of  triumph  that  was  really  too  painfully  full  of  derision. 

\i&L-  I mention  this  little  incident  for  its  connexion  with  what 
'followed.  A Welsh  rustic,  sitting  behind  me,  asked  if  I had 
not  felt  my  heart  burn  within  me  during  the  progress  of  the 
race?  I said,  with  philosophic  calmness,  No;  because  we 
were  not  racing  with  a mail,  so  that  no  glory  could  be 
15  gained.  In  fact,  it  was  sufficiently  mortifying  that  such  a 
Birmingham  thing  should  dare  to  challenge  us.  The  Welsh- 
man replied  that  he  didn't  see  that ; for  that  a cat  might 
look  at  a king,0  and  a Brummagem  coach  might  lawfully  race 
the  Holyhead  mail.  “Race  us,  if  you  like,"  I replied, 
20  “ though  even  that  has  an  air  of  sedition;  but  not  heat  us. 
This  would  have  been  treason;  and  for  its  own  sake  I am 
glad  that  the  ‘Tallyho'  was  disappointed."  So  dissatisfied 
did  the  Welshman  seem  with  this  opinion  that  at  last  I was 
obliged  to  tell  him  a very  fine  story  from  one  of  our  elder 
25  dramatists0 : viz.  that  once,  in  some  far  oriental  kingdom, 
when  the  sultan  of  all  the  land,  with  his  princes,  ladies,  and 
chief  omrahs,0  were  flying  their  falcons,  a hawk  suddenly 
flew  at  a majestic  eagle,  and,  in  defiance  of  the  eagle's  natural 
advantages,  in  contempt  also  of  the  eagle's  traditional  royalty, 
30  and  before  the  whole  assembled  field  of  astonished  spectators 
from  Agra  and  Lahore,0  killed  the  eagle  on  the  spot.  Amaze- 
ment seized  the  sultan  at  the  unequal  contest,  and  burning 
admiration  for  its  unparalleled  result.  He  commanded  that 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


49 


the  hawk  should  be  brought  before  him;  he  caressed  the 
bird  with  enthusiasm;  and  he  ordered  that,  for  the  com- 
memoration of  his  matchless  courage,  a diadem  of  gold  and 
rubies  should  be  solemnly  placed  on  the  hawk’s  head,  but 
then  that,  immediately  after  this  solemn  coronation,  the  bird  5 
should  be  led  off  to  execution,  as  the  most  valiant  indeed  of 
traitors,  but  not  the  less  a traitor,  as  having  dared  to  rise 
rebelliously  against  his  liege  lord  and  anointed  sovereign,  the 
eagle.  “Now,”  said  I to  the  Welshman,  “to  you  and  me, 
as  men  of  refined  sensibilities,  how  painful  it  would  have  10 
been  that  this  poor  Brummagem  brute,  the  ‘Tallyho/  in  the 
impossible  case  of  a victory  over  us,  should  have  been 
crowned  with  Birmingham  tinsel,  with  paste  diamonds  and 
Roman  pearls,0  and  then  led  off  to  instant  execution.”  The 
Welshman  doubted  if  that  could  be  warranted  by  law.  And,  15 
when  I hinted  at  the  6th  of  Edward  Longshanks,  chap.  18,° 
for  regulating  the  precedency  of  coaches,  as  being  probably 
the  statute  relied  on  for  the  capital  punishment  of  such 
offences,  he  replied  drily  that,  if  the  attempt  to  pass  a mail 
really  were  treasonable,  it  was  a pity  that  the  “Tallyho”20 
appeared  to  have  so  imperfect  an  acquaintance  with  law. 

The  modern  modes  of  travelling  cannot  compare  with 
the  old  mail-coach  system  in  grandeur  and  power.  They 
boast  of  more  velocity,  — not,  however,  as  a consciousness, 
but  as  a fact  of  our  lifeless  knowledge,  resting  upon  alien  25 
evidence : as,  for  instance,  because  somebody  says  that  we 
have  gone  fifty  miles  in  the  hour,  though  we  are  far  from 
feeling  it  as  a personal  experience;  or  upon  the  evidence  of 
a result,  as  that  actually  we  find  ourselves  in  York  four  hours 
after  leaving  London.0  Apart  from  such  an  assertion,  or  such  30 
a result,  I myself  am  little  aware  of  the  pace.  Bat,  seated 
on  the  old  mail-coach,  we  needed  no  evidence  out  of  ourselves 
to  indicate  the  velocity.  On  this  system  the  word  was  not 

E 


50  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


magna  loquimur ,°  as  upon  railways,  but  vivimus.  Yes, 
“magna  vivimus' ’ ° ; we  do  not  make  verbal  ostentation  of 
our  grandeurs,  we  realise  our  grandeurs  in  act,  and  in  the 
very  experience  of  life.  The  vital  experience  of  the  glad 
5 animal  sensibilities  made  doubts  impossible  on  the  question 
of  our  speed ; wre  heard  our  speed,  we  saw  it,  we  felt  it  as 
a thrilling0 ; and  this  speed  was  not  the  product  of  blind 
insensate  agencies,  that  had  no  sympathy  to  give,  but  was 
incarnated  in  the  fiery  eyeballs  of  the  noblest  amongst  brutes, 
L0  in  his  dilated  nostril,  spasmodic  muscles,  and  thunder-beat- 
ing hoofs.  The  sensibility  of  the  horse,  uttering  itself  in  the 
maniac  light  of  his  eye,  might  be  the  last  vibration  of  such 
a movement ; the  glory  of  Salamanca  might  be  the  first. 
But  the  intervening  links  that  connected  them,  that  spread 
15  the  earthquake  of  battle  into  the  eyeball  of  the  horse,  were 
the  heart  of  man  and  its  electric  thrillings  — kindling  in  the 
rapture  of  the  fiery  strife,  and  then  propagating  its  own 
tumults  by  contagious  shouts  and  gestures  to  the  heart  of  his 
servant  the  horse.  But  now,  on  the  new  system  of  travelling, 
20  iron  tubes  and  boilers  have  disconnected  man’s  heart  from 
the  ministers  of  his  locomotion.  Nile0  nor  Trafalgar  has 
power  to  raise  an  extra  bubble  in  a steam-kettle.  The  gal- 
vanic cycle  is  broken  up  for  ever ; man’s  imperial  nature  no 
longer  sends  itself  forward  through  the  electric  sensibility  of 
25  the  horse  ; the  inter-agencies  are  gone  in  the  mode  of  commu- 
nication between  the  horse  and  his  master  out  of  which  grew 
so  many  aspects  of  sublimity  under  accidents  of  mists  that 
hid,  or  sudden  blazes  that  revealed,  of  mobs  that  agitated,  or 
midnight  solitudes  that  awed.  Tidings  fitted  to  convulse  all 
30  nations  must  henceforwards  travel  by  culinary  process ; and 
the  trumpet  that  once  announced  from  afar  the  laurelled 
mail,  heart-shaking  when  heard  screaming  on  the  wind  and 
proclaiming  itself  through  the  darkness  to  every  village  or 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


51 


solitary  house  on  its  route,  has  now  given  way  for  ever  to 
the  pot- wallopings0  of  the  boiler.  Thus  have  perished  multi- 
form openings  for  public  expressions  of  interest,  scenical0 
yet  natural,  in  great  national  tidings,  — for  revelations  of 
faces  and  groups  that  could  not  offer  themselves  amongst  5 
the  fluctuating  mobs  of  a railway  station.  The  gatherings 
of  gazers  about  a laurelled  mail  had  one  centre,  and  acknow- 
ledged one  sole  interest.  But  the  crowds  attending  at  a 
railway  station  have  as  little  unity  as  running  water,  and 
own  as  many  centres  as  there  are  separate  carriages  in  the  10 
train. 

How  else,  for  example,  than  as  a constant  wratcher  for  the 
dawn,  and  for  the  London  mail  that  in  summer  months 
entered  about  daybreak  amongst  the  lawny  thickets  of 
Marlborough  forest,0  couldst  thou,  sweet  Fanny  of  the  Bath  15 
road,  have  become  the  glorified  inmate  of  my  dreams  ? 
Yet  Fanny,  as  the  loveliest  young  woman  for  face  and 
person  that  perhaps  in  my  whole  life  I have  beheld, 
merited  the  station  which  even  now,  from  a distance  of 
forty  years,  she  holds  in  my  dreams ; yes,  though  by  20 
links  of  natural  association  she  brings  along  with  her  a 
troop  of  dreadful  creatures,  fabulous  and  not  fabulous,  that 
are  more  abominable  to  the  heart  than  Fanny  and  the 
dawn  are  delightful.0 

Miss  Fanny  of  the  Bath  road,  strictly  speaking,  lived  at  25 
a mile’s  distance  from  that  road,  but  came  so  continually  to 
meet  the  mail  that  I on  my  frequent  transits  rarely  missed 
her,  and  naturally  connected  her  image  with  the  great 
thoroughfare  where  only  I had  ever  seen  her.  Why  she 
came  so  punctually  I do  not  exactly  know;  but  I believe  3d 
with  some  burden  of  commissions,  to  be  executed  in  Bath, 
which  had  gathered  to  her  own  residence  as  a central  rendez- 
vous for  converging  them.  The  mail-coachman  who  drove 


52  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE Y 

the  Bath  mail  and  wore  the  royal  livery0  happened  to  be 
Fanny's  grandfather.  A good  man  he  was,  that  loved  his 
beautiful  granddaughter,  and,  loving  her  wisely,  was  vigilant 
over  her  deportment  in  any  case  where  young  Oxford  might 
5 happen  to  be  concerned.  Did  my  vanity  then  suggest 
that  I myself,  individually,  could  fall  within  the  line  of 
his  terrors  ? Certainly  not,  as  regarded  any  physical  preten- 
sions0 that  I could  plead;  for  Fanny  (as  a chance  passenger 
from  her  own  neighbourhood  once  told  me)  counted  in 
10  her  train  a hundred  and  ninety-nine  professed  admirers, 
if  not  open  aspirants  to  her  favour ; and  probably  not 
one  of  the  whole  brigade  but  excelled  myself  in  personal 
advantages.  Ulysses  even,  with  the  unfair  advantage  of 
his  accursed  bow,  could  hardly  have  undertaken  that  amount 
15  of  suitors.0  So  the  danger  might  have  seemed  slight  — 
only  that  woman  is  universally  aristocratic;  it  is  amongst 
her  nobilities  of  heart  that  she  is  so.  Now,  the  aristocratic 
distinctions  in  my  favour  might  easily  with  Miss  Fanny 
have  compensated  my  physical  deficiencies.  Did  I then 
20  make  love  to  Fanny  ? Why,  yes ; about  as  much  love  as 
one  could  make  whilst  the  mail  was  changing  horses  — a pro- 
cess which,  ten  years  later,  did  not  occupy  above  eighty 
seconds ; but  then , — viz.  about  Waterloo0  — it  occupied  five 
times  eighty.  Now,  four  hundred  seconds  offer  a field  quite 
25  ample  enough  for  whispering  into  a young  woman’s  ear  a 
great  deal  of  truth,  and  (by  way  of  parenthesis)  some  trifle 
of  falsehood.  Grandpapa  did  right,  therefore,  to  watch  me. 
And  yet,  as  happens  too  often  to  the  grandpapas  of  earth  in 
a contest  with  the  admirers  of  granddaughters,  how  vainly 
30  would  he  have  watched  me  had  I meditated  any  evil  whispers 
to  Fanny  ! She,  it  is  my  belief,  would  have  protected,  herself 
against  any  man's  evil  suggestions.  But  he,  as  the  result 
showed,  could  not  have  intercepted  the  opportunities  for 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


53 


such  suggestions.  Yet,  why  not?  Was  he  not  active? 
Was  he  not  blooming  ? Blooming  he  was  as  Fanny  herself. 

“ Say,  all  our  praises  why  should  lords0  — ” 

Stop,  that’s  not  the  line. 

“ Say,  all  our  roses  why  should  girls  engross  ? ” 5 

The  coachman  showed  rosy  blossoms  on  his  face  deeper  even 
than  his  granddaughter’s  — his  being  drawn  from  the  ale-cask, 
Fanny’s  from  the  fountains  of  the  dawn.  But,  in  spite  of 
his  blooming  face,  some  infirmities  he  had ; and  one  particu- 
larly in  which  he  too  much  resembled  a crocodile.0  This  layio 
in  a monstrous  inaptitude  for  turning  round.  The  crocodile, 

I presume,  owes  that  inaptitude  to  the  absurd  length  of  his 
back ; but  in  our  grandpapa  it  arose  rather  from  the  absurd 
breadth  of  his  back,  combined,  possibly,  with  some  growing 
stiffness  in  his  legs.  Now,  upon  this  crocodile  infirmity  of  15 
his  I planted  a human  advantage  for  tendering  my  homage 
to  Miss  Fanny.  In  defiance  of  all  his  honourable  vigilance, 
no  sooner  had  he  presented  to  us  his  mighty  Jovian  back 
(what  a field  for  displaying  to  mankind  his  royal  scarlet !) , 
whilst  inspecting  professionally  the  buckles,  the  straps,  and  20 
the  silvery  turrets0  of  his  harness,  than  I raised  Miss  Fanny’s 
hand  to  my  lips,  and,  by  the  mixed  tenderness  and  respectful- 
ness of  my  manner,  caused  her  easily  to  understand  how 
happy  it  would  make  me  to  rank  upon  her  list  as  No.  10 
or  12:  in  which  case  a few  casualties  amongst  her  lovers  25 
(and,  observe,  they  hanged  liberally  in  those  days)  might 
have  promoted  me  speedily  to  the  top  of  the  tree0 ; as,  on 
the  other  hand,  with  how  much  loyalty  of  submission  I 
acquiesced  by  anticipation  in  her  award,  supposing  that  she 
should  plant  me  in  the  very  rearward  of  her  favour,0  as  50 


54  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


No.  199  + 1.  Most  truly  I loved  this  beautiful  and  ingenu- 
ous girl;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  Bath  mail,  timing  all 
courtships  by  post-office  allowance,  heaven  only  knows  what 
might  have  come  of  it.  People  talk  of  being  over  head 
5 and  ears  in  love ; now,  the  mail  was  the  cause  that  I sank 
only  over  ears  in  love,  — which,  you  know,  still  left  a trifle 
of  brain  to  overlook  the  whole  conduct  of  the  affair. 

Ah,  reader ! when  I look  back  upon  those  days,  it  seems 
to  me  that  all  things  change  — all  things  perish.  “ Perish 
10 the  roses  and  the  palms  of  kings”0:  perish  even  the  crowns 
and  trophies  of  Waterloo : thunder  and  lightning  are  not  the 
thunder  and  lightning  which  I remember.  Roses  are  de- 
generating. The  Fannies  of  our  island  — though  this  I say 
with  reluctance  — are  not  visibly  improving ; and  the  Bath 
15  road  is  notoriously  superannuated.  Crocodiles,  you  will 
say,  are  stationary.  Mr.  Waterton0  tells  me  that  the  croco- 
dile does  not  change,  — that  a cayman,  in  fact,  or  an  alligator, 
is  just  as  good  for  riding  upon  as  he  was  in  the  time  of  the 
Pharaohs.0  That  may  be  : but  the  reason  is  that  the  croco- 
20  dile  does  not  live  fast  — he  is  a slow  coach.  I believe  it  is 
generally  understood  among  naturalists  that  the  crocodile  is 
a blockhead.  It  is  my  own  impression  that  the  Pharaohs 
were  also  blockheads.  Now,  as  the  Pharaohs  and  the  croco- 
dile domineered  over  Egyptian  society,0  this  accounts  for  a 
25  singular  mistake  that  prevailed  through  innumerable  gen- 
erations on  the  Nile.  The  crocodile  made  the  ridiculous 
blunder  of  supposing  man  to  be  meant  chiefly  for  his  own 
eating.  Man,  taking  a different  view  of  the  subject,  natu- 
rally met  that  mistake  by  another : he  viewed  the  crocodile 
30  as  a thing  sometimes  to  worship,  but  always  to  run  away 
from.  And  this  continued  till  Mr.  Waterton  changed  the 
relations  between  the  animals.0  The  mode  of  escaping  from 
the  reptile  he  showed  to  be  not  by  running  away,  but  by 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH  > 


55 


leaping  on  its  back  booted  and  spurred.  The  two  animals 
had  misunderstood  each  other.  The  use  of  the  crocodile  has 
now  been  cleared  up  — viz.  to  be  ridden ; and  the  final  cause 
of  man°  is  that  he  may  improve  the  health  of  the  crocodile  by 
riding  him  a-foxhunting  before  breakfast.  And  it  is  pretty  5 
certain  that  any  crocodile  who  has  been  regularly  hunted 
through  the  season,  and  is  master  of  the  weight  he  carries, 
will  take  a six-barred  gate  now  as  well  as  ever  he  would  have 
done  in  the  infancy  of  the  pyramids. 

If,  therefore,  the  crocodile  does  not  change,  all  things  elsel* 
undeniably  do : even  the  shadow  of  the  pyramids  grows  less. 
And  often  the  restoration  in  vision  of  Fanny  and  the  Bath 
road  makes  me  too  pathetically  sensible  of  that  truth.  Out 
of  the  darkness,  if  I happen  to  call  back  the  image  of  Fanny, 
up  rises  suddenly  from  a gulf  of  forty  years0  a rose  in  June0 ; 15 
or,  if  I think  for  an  instant  of  the  rose  in  June,  up  rises  the 
heavenly  face  of  Fanny.  One  after  the  other,  like  the  an- 
tiphonies in  the  choral  service,  rise  Fanny  and  the  rose  in 
June,  then  back  again  the  rose  in  June  and  Fanny.  Then 
come  both  together,  as  in  a chorus  — roses  and  Fannies,  20 
Fannies  and  roses,  without  end,  thick  as  blossoms  in  paradise. 
Then  comes  a venerable  crocodile,  in  a royal  livery  of  scarlet 
and  gold,  with  sixteen  capes;  and  the  crocodile  is  driving 
four-in-hand  from  the  box  of  the  Bath  mail.  And  suddenly 
we  upon  the  mail  are  pulled  up  by  a mighty  dial,  sculptured  25 
with  the  hours,  that  mingle  with  the  heavens  and  the  heav- 
enly host.  Then  all  at  once  we  are  arrived  at  Marlborough 
forest,  amongst  the  lovely  households0  of  the  roe-deer;  the 
deer  and  their  fawns  retire  into  the  dewy  thickets;  the 
thickets  are  rich  with  roses ; once  again  the  roses  call  up  30 
the  sweet  countenance  of  Fanny;  and  she,  being  the  grand- 
daughter of  a crocodile,  awakens  a dreadful  host  of  semi- 
legendary animals  — griffins,  dragons,  basilisks,  sphinxes0  — 


56  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y 


till  at  length  the  whole  vision  of  fighting  images  crowds  into 
one  towering  armorial  shield,  a vast  emblazonry  of  human 
charities  and  human  loveliness  that  have  perished,  but  quar- 
tered heraldically0  with  unutterable  and  demoniac  natures, 
5 whilst  over  all  rises,  as  a surmounting  crest,  one  fair  female 
hand,  with  the  forefinger  pointing,  in  sweet,  sorrowful  ad- 
monition, upwards  to  heaven,  where  is  sculptured  the  eternal 
writing  which  proclaims  the  frailty  of  earth  and  her  children.0 


A) 

* tj  / r 

DOWN 

/ } 


A 


TH  VICTORY 


But  the  grandest  chapter  of  our  experience  within  the 
10  whole  mail-coach  service  was  on  those  occasions  when  we 
went  down  from  London  with  the  news  of  victory.  A period 
of  about  ten  years  stretched  from  Trafalgar  to  Waterloo ; 
the  second  and  third  years  of  which  period  (1806  and  1807) 
were  comparatively  sterile;  but  the  other  nine  (from  1805 
15  to  1815  inclusively)  furnished  a long  succession  of  victories, 
the  least  of  which,  in  such  a contest  of  Titans,0  had  an  in- 
appreciable value  of  position : partly  for  its  absolute  inter- 
ference with  the  plans  of  our  enemy,  but  still  mere  from  its 
keeping  alive  through  central  Europe  the  sense  of  a deep- 
-seated vulnerability  in  France.  Even  to  tease  the  coasts  of 
our  enemy,  to  mortify  them  by  continual  blockades,  to  insult 
them  by  capturing  if  it  were  but  a baubling  schooner  under 
the  eyes  of  their  arrogant  armies,  repeated  from  time  to  time 
a sullen  proclamation  of  power  lodged  in  one  quarter  to  which 
25  the  hopes  of  Christendom  turned  in  secret.  How  much  more 
loudly  must  this  proclamation  have  spoken  in  the  audacity0 
of  having  bearded  the  elite  of  their  troops,  and  having  beaten 
them  in  pitched  battles ! Five  years  of  life  it  was  worth 
paying  down  for  the  privilege  of  an  outside  place  on  a mail- 
30  coach,  when  carrying  down  the  first  tidings  of  any  such  event. 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


57 


And  it  is  to  be  noted  that,  from  our  insular  situation,  and  the 
multitude  of  our  frigates  disposable  for  the  rapid  transmission 
of  intelligence,  rarely  did  any  unauthorised  rumour  steal 
away  a prelibation0  from  the  first  aroma  of  the  regular  de- 
spatches. The  government  news  was  generally  the  earliest  5 
news. 

From  eight  p.m.  to  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  later  imagine 
the  mails  assembled  on  parade  in  Lombard  Street0;  where, 
at  that  time,0  and  not  in  St.  Martin ’s-le-Grand.,°  was  seated 
the  General  Post-office.0  In  what  exact  strength  we  mus-  10 
tered  I do  not  remember ; but,  from  the  length  of  each  sepa- 
rate attelage,0  we  filled  the  street,  though  a long  one,  and 
though  we  were  drawn  up  in  double  file.  On  any  night  the 
spectacle  was  beautiful.  The  absolute  perfection  of  all  the 
appointments  about  the  carriages  and  the  harness,  their  15 
strength,  their  brilliant  cleanliness,  their  beautiful  sim- 
plicity — but,  more  than  all,  the  royal  magnificence  of  the 
horses  — - were  what  might  first  have  fixed  the  attention. 
Every  carriage  on  every  morning  in  the  year  was  taken  down 
to  an  official  inspector  for  examination : wheels,  axles,  linch-  20 
pins,  pole,  glasses,  lamps,  were  all  critically  probed  and  tested. 
Every  part  of  every  carriage  had  been  cleaned,  every  horse 
had  been  groomed,  with  as  much  rigour  as  if  they  belonged 
to  a private  gentleman ; and  that  part  of  the  spectacle  offered 
itself  always.  But  the  night  before  us  is  a night  of  victory ; 25 
and,  behold ! to  the  ordinary  display  what  a heart-shaking 
addition ! — horses,  men,  carriages,  all  are  dressed  in  laurels 
and  flowers,  oak-leaves  and  ribbons.  The  guards,  as  being 
officially  his  Majesty's  servants,  and  of  the  coachmen  such 
as  are  within  the  privilege  of  the  post-office,  wear  the  royal  30 
liveries  of  course ; and,  as  it  is  summer  (for  all  the  land  vic- 
tories were  naturally  won  in  summer),  they  wear,  on  this  fine 
evening,  these  liveries  exposed  to  view,  without  any  covering 


58  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


of  upper  coats.  Such  a costume,  and  the  elaborate  arrange- 
ment of  the  laurels  in  their  hats,  dilate  their  hearts,  by  giving 
to  them  openly  a personal  connexion  with  the  great  news  in 
which  already  they  have  the  general  interest  of  patriotism. 

5 That  great  national  sentiment  surmounts  and  quells  all  sense 
of  ordinary  distinctions.  Those  passengers  who  happen  to 
be  gentlemen  are  now  hardly  to  be  distinguished  as  such 
except  by  dress;  for  the  usual  reserve  of  their  manner  in 
speaking  to  the  attendants  has  on  this  night  melted  away. 
10  One  heart,  one  pride,  one  glory,  connects  every  man  by  the 
transcendent  bond  of  his  national  blood.  The  spectators, 
who  are  numerous  beyond  precedent,  express  their  sympathy 
with  these  fervent  feelings  by  continual  hurrahs.  Every 
moment  are  shouted  aloud  by  the  post-office  servants,  and 
15  summoned  to  draw  up,  the  great  ancestral  names  of  cities 
known  to  history  through  a thousand  years  — Lincoln,  Win- 
chester, Portsmouth,  Gloucester,  Oxford,  Bristol,  Manchester, 
York,  Newcastle,  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  Perth,  Stirling,  Aber- 
deen — expressing  the  grandeur  of  the  empire  by  the 
20  antiquity  of  its  towns,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  mail  estab- 
lishment by  the  diffusive  radiation  of  its  separate  missions. 
Every  moment  you  hear  the  thunder  of  lids  locked  down 
upon  the  mail-bags.  That  sound  to  each  individual  mail  is 
the  signal  for  drawing  off ; which  process  is  the  finest  part  of 
25  the  entire  spectacle.  Then  come  the  horses  into  play. 
Horses ! can  these  be  horses  that  bound  off  with  the  action 
and  gestures  of  leopards  ? What  stir ! — what  sea-like  fer- 
ment ! — what  a thundering  of  wheels  ! — what  a trampling 
of  hoofs  ! — what  a sounding  of  trumpets  ! — what  farewell 
30  cheers  — what  redoubling  peals  of  brotherly  congratulation, 
connecting  the  name  of  the  particular  mail  — “Liverpool 
for  ever!”  — with  the  name  of  the  particular  victory  — 
“Badajoz0  for  ever!”  or  “Salamanca  for  ever!”  The  half- 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


59 


slumbering  consciousness  that  all  night  long,  and  all  the  next 
day  — perhaps  for  even  a longer  period  — many  of  these 
mails,  like  fire  racing  along  a train  of  gunpowder,  will  be 
kindling  at  every  instant  new  successions  of  burning  joy,  has 
an  obscure  effect  of  multiplying  the  victory  itself,  by  multi- 5 
plying  to  the  imagination  into  infinity  the  stages  of  its  pro- 
gressive diffusion.  A fiery  arrow  seems  to  be  let  loose,  which 
from  that  moment  is  destined  to  travel,  without  intermission, 
westwards  for  three  hundred0  miles  — northwards  for  six 
hundred  : and  the  sympathy  of  our  Lombard  Street  friends  10 
at  parting  is  exalted  a hundredfold  by  a sort  of  visionary 
sympathy  wfith  the  yet  slumbering  s}unpathies  which  in  so 
yast  a succession  we  are  going  to  awake. 

Liberated  from  the  embarrassments  of  the  city,  and  issuing 
into  the  broad  uncrowded  avenues  of  the  northern  suburbs,  15 
we  soon  begin  to  enter  upon  our  natural  pace  of  ten  miles  an 
hour.  In  the  broad  light  of  the  summer  evening,  the  sun, 
perhaps,  only  just  at  the  point  of  setting,  we  are  seen  from 
every  storey  of  every  house.  Heads  of  every  age  crowd  to 
the  windows ; young  and  old  understand  the  language  of  20 
our  victorious  symbols;  and  rolling  volleys  of  sympathising 
cheers  run  along  us,  behind  us,  and  before  us.  The  beggar, 
rearing  himself  against  the  wall,  forgets  his  lameness  — real 
or  assumed  — thinks  not  of  his  whining  trade,  but  stands 
erect,  with  bold  exulting  smiles,  as  we  pass  him.  The  vie- 25 
tory  has  healed  him,  and  says,  Be  thou  whole  !°  Women  and 
children,  from  garrets  alike  and  cellars,  through  infinite  Lon- 
don, look  down  or  look  up  with  loving  eyes  upon  our  gay 
ribbons  and  our  martial  laurels ; sometimes  kiss  their  hands ; 
sometimes  hang  out,  as  signals  of  affection,  pocket-handker-  30 
chiefs,  aprons,  dusters,  anything  that,  by  catching  the  sum- 
mer breezes,  will  express  an  aerial  jubilation.  On  the  London 
side  of  Barnet,0  to  which  we  draw  near  within  a few  minutes 


60  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


after  nine,  observe  that  private  carriage  which  is  approach- 
ing us.  The  weather  being  so  warm,  the  glasses  are  all  down ; 
and  one  may  read,  as  on  the  stage  of  a theatre,  everything 
that  goes  on  within.  It  contains  three  ladies  — one  likely 
5 to  be  “mamma/’  and  two  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  who  are 
probably  her  daughters.  What  lovely  animation,  what 
beautiful  unpremeditated  pantomime,  explaining  to  us  every 
syllable  that  passes,  in  these  ingenuous  girls  ! By  the  sudden 
start  and  raising  of  the  hands  on  first  discovering  our  laurelled 
10  equipage,  by  the  sudden  movement  and  appeal  to  the  elder 
lady  from  both  of  them,  and  by  the  heightened  colour  on 
their  animated  countenances,  we  can  almost  hear  them  say- 
ing, "See,  see!  Look  at  their  laurels!  Oh,  mamma!  there 
has  been  a great  battle  in  Spain ; and  it  has  been  a great  vic- 
15tory.”  In  a moment  we  are  on  the  point  of  passing  them. 
We  passengers  — I on  the  box,  and  the  two  on  the  roof  behind 
me  — raise  our  hats  to  the  ladies ; the  coachman  makes  his 
professional  salute  with  the  whip;  the  guard  even,  though 
punctilious  on  the  matter  of  his  dignity  as  an  officer  under 
20  the  crown,  touches  his  hat.  The  ladies  move  to  us,  in  return, 
with  a winning  graciousness  of  gesture;  all  smile  on  each 
side  in  a way  that  nobody  could  misunderstand,  and  that 
nothing  short  of  a grand  national  sympathy  could  so  instan- 
taneously prompt.  Will  these  ladies  say  that  we  are  nothing 
25  to  them  ? Oh  no ; they  will  not  say  that.  They  cannot  deny 
— they  do  not  deny  — that  for  this  night  they  are  our  sisters ; 
gentle  or  simple,  scholar  or  illiterate  servant,  for  twelve  hours 
to  come,  we  on  the  outside  have  the  honour  to  be  their 
brothers.  Those  poor  women,  again,  who  stop  to  gaze  upon 
30  us  with  delight  at  the  entrance  of  Barnet,  and  seem,  by  their 
air  of  weariness,  to  be  returning  from  labour  — do  you  mean 
to  say  that  they  are  washerwomen  and  charwomen0?  Oh, 
my  poor  friend,  you  are  quite  mistaken.  I assure  you  they 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


61 


stand  in  a far  higher  rank ; for  this  one  night  they  feel  them- 
selves by  birthright  to  be  daughters  of  England,  and  answer 
to  no  humbler  title. 

Every  joy,  however,  even  rapturous  joy  — such  is  the  sad 
law  of  earth  — may  carry  with  it  grief,  or  fear  of  grief,  to 
.some.  Three  miles  beyond  Barnet,  we  see  approaching  us 
another  private  carriage,  nearly  repeating  the  circumstances 
of  the  former  case.  Here,  also,  the  glasses  are  all  down; 
here,  also,  is  an  elderly  lady  seated ; but  the  two  daughters 
are  missing ; for  the  single  young  person  sitting  by  the  lady’s 
side  seems  to  be  an  attendant  — so  I judge  from  her  dress, 
and  her  air  of  respectful  reserve.  The  lady  is  in  mourning ; 
and  her  countenance  expresses  sorrow.  At  first  she  does  not 
look  up ; so  that  I believe  she  is  not  aware  of  our  approach, 
until  she  hears  the  measured  beating  of  our  horses’  hoofs. 
Then  she  raises  her  eyes  to  settle  them  painfully  on  our 
triumphal  equipage.  Our  decorations  explain  the  case  to  her 
at  once;  but  she  beholds  them  with  apparent  anxiety,  or 
even  with  terror.  Some  time  before  this,  I,  finding  it  difficult 
* to  hit  a flying  mark  when  embarrassed  by  the  coachman’s 
' person  and  reins  intervening,  had  given  to  the  guard  a Courier 
evening  paper,0  containing  the  gazette,0  for  the  next  carriage 
that  might  pass.  Accordingly  he  tossed  it  in,  so  folded  that 
the  huge  capitals  expressing  some  such  legend  as  glorious 
victory  might  catch  the  eye  at  once.  To  see  the  paper, 
however,  at  all,  interpreted  as  it  was  by  our  ensigns  of  tri- 
umph, explained  everything;  and,  if  the  guard  were  right 
in  thinking  the  lady  to  have  received  it  with  a gesture  of 
horror,  it  could  not  be  doubtful  that  she  had  suffered  some 
deep  personal  affliction  in  connexion  with  this  Spanish  war. 
"^Here,  now,  was  the  case  of  one  who,  having  formerly  suf- 
fered, might,  erroneously  perhaps,  be  distressing  herself  with 
anticipations  of  another  similar  suffering.  That  same  night, 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

3(1 


62  THE  ESS  A TS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE  Y 


and  hardly  three  hours  later,  occurred  the  reverse  case.  A 
poor  woman,  who  too  probably  would  find  herself,  in  a day 
or  two,  to  have  suffered  the  heaviest  of  afflictions  by  the 
battle,  blindly  allowed  herself  to  express  an  exultation  so 
5 unmeasured  in  the  news  and  its  details  as  gave  to  her  the  ap- 
pearance which  amongst  Celtic  Highlanders  is  called  fey.° 
This  was  at  some  little  town  where  we  changed  horses  an 
hour  or  two  after  midnight.  Some  fair  or  wake  had  kept 
the  people  up  out  of  their  beds,  and  had  occasioned  a partial 
10  illumination  of  the  stalls  and  booths,  presenting  an  unusual 
but  very  impressive  effect.  We  saw  many  lights  moving 
about  as  we  drew  near ; and  perhaps  the  most  striking  scene 
on  the  whole  route  was  our  reception  at  this  place.  The 
flashing  of  torches  and  the  beautiful  radiance  of  blue  lights 
15  (technically,  Bengal  lights0)  upon  the  heads  of  our  horses ; 
the  fine  effect  of  such  a showery  and  ghostly  illumination 
falling  upon  our  flowers  and  glittering  laurels0 : whilst  all 
around  ourselves,  that  formed  a centre  of  light,  the  darkness 
gathered  on  the  rear  and  flanks  in  massy  blackness : these 
20  optical  splendours,  together  with  the  prodigious  enthusiasm 
of  the  people,  composed  a picture  at  once  scenical  and  affect- 
ing, theatrical  and  holy.  As  we  staid  for  three  or  four  min- 
utes, I alighted;  and  immediately  from  a dismantled  stall 
in  the  street,  where  no  doubt  she  had  been  presiding  through 
25  the  earlier  part  of  the  night,  advanced  eagerly  a middle-aged 
woman.  The  sight  of  my  newspaper  it  was  that  had  drawn 
her  attention  upon  myself.  The  victory  which  we  were 
carrying  down  to  the  provinces  on  this  occasion  was  the  im- 
perfect one  of  Talavera0  — imperfect  for  its  results,  such  was 
30  the  virtual  treachery  of  the  Spanish  general,  Cuesta,0  but 
not  imperfect  in  its  ever-rnemorable  heroism.  I told  her  the 
main  outline  of  the  battle.  The  agitation  of  her  enthusiasm 
had  been  so  conspicuous  when  listening,  and  when  first  apply- 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


63 


ing  for  information,  that  I could  not  but  ask  her  if  she  had 
not  some  relative  in  the  Peninsular  army.0  Oh  yes;  her 
only  son  was  there.  In  what  regiment?  He  was  a trooper 
in  the  23d  Dragoons.0  My  heart  sank  within  me  as  she  made 
that  answer.  This  sublime  regiment,  which  an  Englishman 
should  never  mention  without  raising  his  hat  to  their  memory, 
had  made  the  most  memorable  and  effective  charge  recorded 
in  military  annals.0  They  leaped  their  horses  — over  a trench 
where  they  could;  into  it,  and  with  the  result  of  death  or 
mutilation,  when  they  could  not.  What  proportion  cleared 
the  trench  is  nowhere  stated.  Those  who  did  closed  up  and 
went  down  upon  the  enemy  with  such  divinity  of  fervour 
(I  use  the  word  divinity  by  design : the  inspiration  of  God° 
must  have  prompted  this  movement  to  those  whom  even  then 
He  was  calling  to  His  presence)  that  two  results  followed. 
As  regarded  the  enemy,  this  23d  Dragoons,  not,  I believe, 
originally  three  hundred  and  fifty  strong,  paralysed  a French 
column  six  thousand  strong,  then  ascended  the  hill,  and  fixed 
the  gaze  of  the  whole  French  army.  As  regarded  themselves, 
the  23d  were  supposed  at  first  to  have  been  barely  not  anni- 
hilated ; but  eventually,  I believe,  about  one  in  four  survived. 
And  this,  then,  was  the  regiment  — a regiment  already  for 
some  hours  glorified  and  hallowed  to  the  ear  of  all  London, 
as  lying  stretched,  by  a large  majority,  upon  one  bloody 
aceldama0  — in  which  the  young  trooper  served  whose 
mother  was  now  talking  in  a spirit  of  such  jojmus  enthusiasm. 
Did  I tell  her  the  truth?  Had  I the  heart  to  break  up  her 
dreams  ? No.  To-morrow,  said  I to  myself  — to-morrow, 
or  the  next  day,  will  publish  the  worst.  For  one  night  more 
- wherefore  should  she  not  sleep  in  peace?  After  to-morrow 
the  chances  are  too  many  that  peace  will  forsake  her  pillow. 
This  brief  respite,  then,  let  her  owe  to  my  gift  and  my  for- 
bearance. But,  if  I told  her  not  of  the  bloody  price  that  had 


5 

Id 

15 

20 

25 

30 


64  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


been  paid,  not  therefore  was  I silent  • on  the  contributions 
from  her  son's  regiment  to  that  day's  service  and  glory.  I 
showed  her  not  the  funeral  banners  under  which  the  noble 
regiment  was  sleeping.  I lifted  not  the  overshadowing 
5 laurels  from  the  bloody  trench  in  which  horse  and  rider  lay 
mangled  together.  But  I told  her  how  these  dear  children 
of  England,  officers  and  privates,  had  leaped  their  horses  over 
all  obstacles  as  gaily  as  hunters  to  the  morning's  chase.  I 
told  her  how  they  rode  their  horses  into  the  mists  of  death, 
10  — saying  to  myself,  but  not  saying  to  her , “and  laid  down 
their  young  lives  for  thee,  O mother  England ! as  willingly 
— poured  out  their  noble  blood  as  cheerfully  — as  ever,  after 
a long  day's  sport,  when  infants,  they  had  rested  their 
wearied  heads  upon  their  mother's  knees,  or  had  sunk  to 
15  sleep  in  her  arms."  Strange  it  is,  yet  true,  that  she  seemed 
to  have  no  fears  for  her  son's  safety,  even  after  this  knowledge 
that  the  23d  Dragoons  had  been  memorably  engaged ; but 
so  much  was  she  enraptured  by  the  knowledge  that  his  regi- 
ment, and  therefore  that  he,  had  rendered  conspicuous  service 
20  in  the  dreadful  conflict  — a service  which  had  actually  made 
them,  within  the  last  twelve  hours,  the  foremost  topic  of 
conversation  in  London  — so  absolutely  was  fear  swallowed 
up  in  joy  — that,  in  the  mere  simplicity  of  her  fervent  nature, 
the  poor  woman  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  as  she 
25  thought  of  her  son,  and  gave  to  me  the  kiss  which  secretly 
was  meant  for  him . 

Section  II  — The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death0 

What  is  to  be  taken  as  the  predominant  opinion  of  man, 
reflective  and  philosophic,  upon  sudden  death?  It  is  re- 
markable that,  in  different  conditions  of  society,  sudden  death 
30  has  been  variously  regarded  as  the  consummation  of  an 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


65 


earthly  career  most  fervently  to  be  desired,0  or,  again,  as  that 
consummation  which  is  with  most  horror  to  be  deprecated. 
Caesar  the  Dictator,  at  his  last  dinner-party  ( ccena ),  on  the 
very  evening  before  his  assassination,  when  the  minutes  of 
his  earthly  career  were  numbered,  being  asked  what  death, 
in  his  judgment,  might  be  pronounced  the  most  eligible,  re- 
plied “That  which  should  be  most  sudden.”0  On  the  other 
hand,  the  divine  Litany  of  our  English  Church,  when  breath- 
ing forth  supplications,  as  if  in  some  representative  character, 
for  the  whole  human  race  prostrate  before  God,  places  such 
a death  in  the  very  van  of  horrors:  “From  lightning  and 
tempest;  from  plague,  pestilence,  and  famine;  from  battle 
and  murder,  and  from  sudden  death  — Good  Lord,  deliver 
usd’  Sudden  death  is  here  made  to  crown  the  climax  in  a 
grand  ascent  of  calamities;  it  is  ranked  among  the  last  of 
curses;  and  yet  by  the  noblest  of  Romans  it  was  ranked  as 
the  first  of  blessings.  In  that  difference  most  readers  will 
see  little  more  than  the  essential  difference  between  Chris- 
tianity and  Paganism.  But  this,  on  consideration,  I doubt. 
The  Christian  Church  may  be  right  in  its  estimate  of  sudden 
death;  and  it  is  a natural  feeling,  though  after  all  it  may 
also  be  an  infirm  one,  to  wish  for  a quiet  dismissal  from  life, 
as  that  which  seems  most  reconcilable  with  meditation,  with 
penitential  retrospects,  and  with  the  humilities  of  farewell 
prayer.  There  does  not,  however,  occur  to  me  any  direct 
scriptural  warrant  for  this  earnest  petition  of  the  English 
Litany,  unless  under  a special  construction  of  the  word 
“sudden.”  It  seems  a petition  indulged  rather  and  conceded 
to  human  infirmity  than  exacted  from  human  piety.  It  is 
not  so  much  a doctrine  built  upon  the  eternities  of  the  Chris- 
tian system  as  a plausible  opinion  built  upon  special  varieties 
of  physical  temperament.  Let  that,  however,  be  as  it  may, 
two  remarks  suggest  themselves  as  prudent  restraints  upon 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


66  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  Q VINCE Y 


a doctrine  which  else  may  wander,  and  has  wandered,  into 
an  uncharitable  superstition.  The  first  is  this : that  many 
people  are  likely  to  exaggerate  the  horror  of  a sudden  death 
from  the  disposition  to  lay  a false  stress  upon  words  or  acts 
5 simply  because  by  an  accident  they  have  become  final  words 
or  acts.  If  a man  dies,  for  instance,  by  some  sudden  death 
when  he  happens  to  be  intoxicated,  such  a death  is  falsely 
regarded  with  peculiar  horror:  as  though  the  intoxication 
were  suddenly  exalted  into  a blasphemy.  But  that  is  un- 
10  philosophic.  The  man  was,  or  he  was  not.  habitually  a drunk- 
ard. If  not,  if  his  intoxication  were  a solitary  accident,  there 
can  be  no  reason  for  allowing  special  emphasis  to  this  act 
simply  because  through  misfortune  it  became  his  final  act. 
Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  were  no  accident,  but  one  of  his 
15  habitual  transgressions,  will  it  be  the  more  habitual  or  the 
more  a transgression  because  some  sudden  calamity,  sur- 
prising him,  has  caused  this  habitual  transgression  to  be  also 
a final  one.  Could  the  man  have  had  any  reason  even  dimly 
to  foresee  his  own  sudden  death,  there  would  have  been  a 
20  new  feature  in  his  act  of  intemperance  — a feature  of  pre- 
sumption and  irreverence,  as  in  one  that,  having  known  him- 
self drawing  near  to  the  presence  of  God.  should  have  suited 
bis  demeanour  to  an  expectation  so  awful.  But  this  is  no 
part  of  the  case  supposed.  And  the  only  new  element  in 
25  the  man's  act  is  not  any  element  of  special  immorality,  but 
simply  of  special  misfortune. 

The  other  remark  has  reference  to  the  meaning  of  the  word 
sudden . Very  possibly  Ctesar  and  the  Christian  Church  do 
not  differ  in  the  way  supposed.  — that  is,  do  not  differ  by  any 
30  difference  of  doctrine  as  between  Pagan  and  Christian  views 
of  the  moral  temper  appropriate  to  death : but  perhaps  they 
are  contemplating  different  cases.  Both  contemplate  a vio- 
lent death,  a Boz#a vuros°  — death  that  is  /fouos,  or,  in  other 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


6‘i 

words,  death  that  is  brought  about,  not  by  internal  and  spon- 
taneous change,  but  by  active  force  having  its  origin  from 
without.  In  this  meaning  the  two  authorities  agree.  Thus 
far  they  are  in  harmony.  But  the  difference  is  that  the 
Roman  by  the  word  “ sudden”  means  unlingering,0  whereas 5 
the  Christian  Litany  by  “ sudden  death  ''  means  a death 
without  warning,  consequently  without  any  available  sum- 
mons to  religious  preparation.  The  poor  mutineer  who 
kneels  down  to  gather  into  his  heart  the  bullets  from  twelve 
firelocks  of  his  pitying  comrades  dies  by  a most  sudden  death  id 
in  Caesar's  sense ; one  shock,  one  mighty  spasm,  one  (possibly 
not  one)  groan,  and  all  is  over.  But,  in  the  sense  of  the 
Litany,  the  mutineer's  death  is  far  from  sudden : his  offence 
originally,  his  imprisonment,  his  trial,  the  interval  between 
his  sentence  and  its  execution,  having  all  furnished  him  with  15 
separate  warnings  of  his  fate  — having  all  summoned  him 
to  meet  it  wfith  solemn  preparation. 

Here  at  once,  in  this  sharp  verbal  distinction,  we  compre- 
hend the  faithful  earnestness  with  which  a holy  Christian 
Church  pleads  on  behalf  of  her  poor  departing  children  that  20 
God  would  vouchsafe  to  them  the  last  great  privilege  and 
distinction  possible  on  a death-bed,  viz.  the  opportunity  of 
untroubled  preparation  for  facing  this  mighty  trial.  Sudden 
death,  as  a mere  variety  in  the  modes  of  dying  where  death 
in  some  shape  is  inevitable,  proposes  a question  of  choice  25 
which,  equally  in  the  Roman  and  the  Christian  sense,  will  be 
variously  answered  according  to  each  man's  variety  of  tem- 
perament. Meantime,  one  aspect  of  sudden  death  there  is, 
one  modification,  upon  which  no  doubt  can  arise,  that  of  all 
martyrdoms  it  is  the  most  agitating  — viz.  where  it  surprises  30 
a man  under  circumstances  which  offer  (or  which  seem  to 
offer)  some  hurrying,  flying,  inappreciably  minute  chance  of 
evading  it.  Sudden  as  the  danger  which  it  affronts0  must 


68  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


be  any  effort  by  which  such  an  evasion  can  be  accomplished. 
Even  that , even  the  sickening  necessity  for  hurrying  in  ex- 
tremity where  all  hurry  seems  destined  to  be  vain,  — even 
that  anguish  is  liable  to  a hideous  exasperation  in  one  par- 
5 ticular  case : viz.  where  the  appeal  is  made  not  exclusively 
to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  but  to  the  conscience,  on 
behalf  of  some  other  life  besides  your  own,  accidentally 
thrown  upon  your  protection.  To  fail,  to  collapse  in  a ser- 
vice merely  your  own,  might  seem  comparatively  venial; 
10  though,  in  fact,  it  is  far  from  venial.  But  to  fail  in  a case 
where  Providence  has  suddenly  thrown  into  your  hands  the 
final  interests  of  another,  — a fellow-creature  shuddering 
between  the  gates  of  life  and  death : this,  to  a man  of  appre- 
hensive conscience,  would  mingle  the  misery  of  an  atrocious 
15  criminality  with  the  misery  of  a bloody  calamity.  You  are 
called  upon,  by  the  case  supposed,  possibly  to  die,  but  to  die 
at  the  very  moment  when,  by  any  even  partial  failure  or 
effeminate  collapse  of  your  energies,  you  will  be  self-denounced 
as  a murderer.  You  had  but  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  for  your 
20  effort,  and  that  effort  might  have  been  unavailing ; but  to 
have  risen  to  the  level  of  such  an  effort  would  have  rescued 
you,  though  not  from  dying,  yet  from  dying  as  a traitor  to 
your  final  and  farewell  duty. 

The  situation  here  contemplated  exposes  a dreadful  ulcer, 
25  lurking  far  down  in  the  depths  of  human  nature.  It  is  not 
that  men  generally  are  summoned  to  face  such  awful  trials. 
But  potentially,  and  in  shadowy  outline,  such  a trial  is  moving 
subterraneously  in  perhaps  all  men’s  natures.  Upon  the 
secret  mirror  of  our  dreams  such  a trial  is  darkly  projected, 
30  perhaps,  to  every  one  of  us.  That  dream,  so  familiar  to 
childhood,  of  meeting  a lion,  and,  through  languishing  pros- 
tration in  hope  and  the  energies  of  hope,  that  constant  sequel 
of  lying  down  before  the  lion,  publishes  the  secret  frailty  of 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


69 


human  nature  — reveals  its  deep-seated  falsehood  to  itself  — 
records  its  abysmal  treachery.  Perhaps  not  one  of  us  es- 
capes that  dream0;  perhaps,  as  by  some  sorrowful  doom  of 
man,  that  dream  repeats  for  every  one  of  us,  through  every 
generation,  the  original  temptation  in  Eden.  Every  one  of  5 
us,  in  this  dream,  has  a bait  offered  to  the  infirm  places  of 
his  own  individual  will;  once  again  a snare  is  presented  for 
tempting  him  into  captivity  to  a luxury  of  ruin ; once  again, 
as  in  aboriginal  Paradise,  the  man  falls  by  his  own  choice; 
again,  by  infinite  iteration,  the  ancient  earth  groans  to  10 
Heaven,  through  her  secret  caves,  over  the  weakness  of  her 
child.  “ Nature,  from  her  seat,  sighing  through  all  her 
works,”  again  “gives  signs  of  woe  that  all  is  lost”0;  and 
again  the  counter-sigh  is  repeated  to  the  sorrowing  heavens 
for  the  endless  rebellion  against  God.  It  is  not  without  15 
probability  that  in  the  world  of  dreams  every  one  of  us 
ratifies  for  himself  the  original  transgression.  In  dreams, 
perhaps  under  some  secret  conflict  of  the  midnight  sleeper, 
lighted  up  to  the  consciousness  at  the  time,  but  darkened  to 
the  memory  as  soon  as  all  is  finished,  each  several  child  of  20 
our  mysterious  race  completes  for  himself  the  treason  of  the 
aboriginal  fall. 

The  incident,  so  memorable  in  itself  by  its  features  of 
horror,  and  so  scenical  by  its  grouping  for  the  eye,  which 
furnished  the  text  for  this  reverie  upon  Sudden  Death,  oc-25 
curred  to  myself  in  the  dead  of  night,  as  a solitary  spectator, 
when  seated  on  the  box  of  the  Manchester  and  Glasgow  mail,0 
in  the  second  or  third  summer  after  Waterloo.0  I find  it 
necessary  to  relate  the  circumstances,  because  they  are  such 
as  could  not  have  occurred  unless  under  a singular  combina-  30 
tion  of  accidents.  In  those  days,  the  oblique  and  lateral 
communications  with  many  rural  post-offices  were  so  ar- 


70  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


ranged,  either  through  necessity  or  through  defect  of  system, 
as  to  make  it  requisite  for  the  main  north-western  mail 
( i.e . the  down  mail0)  on  reaching  Manchester  to  halt  for  a 
number  of  hours;  how  many,  I do  not  remember;  six  or 
5 seven,  I think ; but  the  result  was  that,  in  the  ordinary  course, 
the  mail  recommenced  its  journey  northwards  about  mid- 
night. Wearied  with  the  long  detention  at  a gloomy  hotel, 
I walked  out  about  eleven  o’clock  at  night  for  the  sake  of 
fresh  air;  meaning  to  fall  in  with  the  mail  and  resume  my 
10  seat  at  the  post-office.  The  night,  however,  being  yet  dark, 
as  the  moon  had  scarcely  risen,  and  the  streets  being  at  that 
hour  empty,  so  as  to  offer  no  opportunities  for  asking  the 
road,  I lost  my  way,  and  did  not  reach  the  post-office  until 
it  was  considerably  past  midnight  ; but,  to  my  great  relief 
15  (as  it  was  important  for  me  to  be  in  Westmorland0  by  the 
morning),  I saw  in  the  huge  saucer  eyes  of  the  mail,  blazing 
through  the  gloom,  an  evidence  that  my  chance  was  not  yet 
lost.  Past  the  time  it  was;  but,  by  some  rare  accident,  the 
mail  was  not  even  yet  ready  to  start.  I ascended  to  my  seat 
20  on  the  box,  where  my  cloak  was  still  lying  as  it  had  lain  at 
the  Bridgewater  Arms.0  I had  left  it  there  in  imitation  of  a 
nautical  discoverer,  who  leaves  a bit  of  bunting  on  the  shore 
of  his  discovery,  by  way  of  warning  off  the  ground  the  whole 
human  race,  and  notifying  to  the  Christian  and  the  heathen 
25  worlds,  with  his  best  compliments,  that  he  has  hoisted  his 
pocket-handkerchief  once  and  for  ever  upon  that  virgin  soil : 
thenceforward  claiming  the  jus  dominii0  to  the  top  of  the 
atmosphere  above  it,  and  also  the  right  of  driving  shafts  to 
the  centre  of  the  earth  below  it ; so  that  all  people  found 
30  after  this  warning  either  aloft  in  upper  chambers  of  the  at- 
mosphere, or  groping  in  subterraneous  shafts,  or  squatting 
audaciously  on  the  surface  of  the  soil,  will  be  treated  as  tres- 
passers— kicked,0  that  is  to  say,  or  decapitated,  as  circum 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


71 


stances  may  suggest,  by  their  very  faithful  servant,  the  owner 
of  the  said  pocket-handkerchief.  In  the  present  case,  it  is 
probable  that  my  cloak  might  not  have  been  respected,  and 
the  jus  gentium0  might  have  been  cruelly  violated  in  my  per- 
son — for,  in  the  dark,  people  commit  deeds  of  darkness,  gas  5 
being  a great  ally  of  morality0;  but  it  so  happened  that  on 
this  night  there  was  no  other  outside  passenger;  and  thus 
the  crime,  which  else  was  but  too  probable,  missed  fire  for 
want  of  a criminal. 

Having  mounted  the  box,  I took  a small  quantity  of  lauda- 10 
num,  having  already  travelled  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  — 
viz.  from  a point  seventy  miles  beyond  London.0  In  the 
taking  of  laudanum  there  was  nothing  extraordinary.0  But 
by  accident  it  drew  upon  me  the  special  attention  of  my 
assessor0  on  the  box,  the  coachman.  And  in  that  also  there  15 
was  nothing  extraordinary.  But  by  accident,  and  with  great 
delight,  it  drew  my  own  attention  to  the  fact  that  this  coach- 
man was  a monster  in  point  of  bulk,  and  that  he  had  but  one 
eye.  In  fact,  he  had  been  foretold  by  Virgil  as 

“ Monstrum  horrendum,  informe,  ingens,  cui  lumen  ademptum.”0  2Q 

He  answered  to  the  conditions  in  every  one  of  the  items : — 

1,  a monster  he  was;  2,  dreadful;  3,  shapeless;  4,  huge; 

5,  who  had  lost  an  eye.  But  why  should  that  delight  me? 
Had  he  been  one  of  the  Calendars  in  the  Arabian  Nights , 
and  had  paid  down  his  eye  as  the  price  of  his  criminal  curi-25 
osity,°  what  right  had  I to  exult  in  his  misfortune?  I did 
not  exult;  I delighted  in  no  man’s  punishment,  though  it 
were  even  merited.  But  these  personal  distinctions  (Nos. 

1,  2,  3,  4,  5)  identified  in  an  instant  an  old  friend  of  mine 
whom  I had  known  in  the  south  for  some  years  as  the  most  30 
masterly  of  mail-coachmen.  He  was  the  man  in  all  Europe 


70 

I mJ 


THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


that  could  (if  any  could)  have  driven  six-in-hand  full  gallop 
over  Al  Sirat°  — that  dreadful  bridge  of  Mahomet,  with  no 
side  battlements,  and  of  extra  room  not  enough  for  a razor’s 
edge  — leading  right  across  the  bottomless  gulf.  Under  this 
5 eminent  man,  whom  in  Greek  I cognominated  Cyclops0 
Diphrelates  (Cyclops  the  Charioteer),  I,  and  others  known  to 
me,  studied  the  diphrelatic0  art.  Excuse,  reader,  a word  too 
elegant  to  be  pedantic.  As  a pupil,  though  I paid  extra 
fees,  it  is  to  be  lamented  that  I did  not  stand  high  in  his  es- 
10  teem.  It  showed  his  dogged  honesty  (though,  observe,  not 
his  discernment)  that  he  could  not  see  my  merits.  Let  us 
excuse  his  absurdity  in  this  particular  by  remembering  his 
want  of  an  eye.  Doubtless  that  made  him  blind  to  my  merits. 
In  the  art  of  conversation,  however,  he  admitted  that  1 had 
15  the  whip-hand  of  him.  On  this  present  occasion  great  joy 
was  at  our  meeting.  But  what  was  Cyclops  doing  here? 
Had  the  medical  men  recommended  northern  air,  or  how? 
I collected,  from  such  explanations  as  he  volunteered,  that 
he  had  an  interest  at  stake  in  some  suit-at-law  now  pending 
20  at  Lancaster0 ; so  that  probably  he  had  got  himself  trans- 
ferred to  this  station  for  the  purpose  of  connecting  with  his 
professional  pursuits  an  instant  readiness  for  the  calls  of  his 
lawsuit. 

Meantime,  what  are  we  stopping  for?  Surely  we  have 
25  now  waited  long  enough.  Oh,  this  procrastinating  mail,  and 
this  procrastinating  post-office ! Can’t  they  take  a lesson 
upon  that  subject  from  me?  Some  people  have  called  me 
procrastinating.0  Yet  you  are  witness,  reader,  that  I was 
here  kept  waiting  for  the  post-office.  Will  the  post-office  lay 
30  its  hand  on  its  heart,  in  its  moments  of  sobriety,  and  assert 
that  ever  it  waited  for  me?  What  are  they  about?  The 
guard  tells  me  that  there  is  a large  extra  accumulation  of 
foreign  mails  this  night,  owing  to  irregularities  caused  by 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


73 


war,  by  wind,  by  weather,  in  the  packet  service,  which  as 
yet  does  not  benefit  at  all  by  steam.  For  an  extra  hour,  it 
seems,  the  post-office  has  been  engaged  in  threshing  out  the 
pure  wheaten  correspondence  of  Glasgow,  and  winnowing  it 
from  the  chaff  of  all  baser  intermediate  towns.  But  at  last  5 
all  is  finished.  Sound  your  horn,  guard  ! Manchester,  good- 
bye ! ; we've  lost  an  hour  by  your  criminal  conduct  at  the 
post-office : which,  however,  though  I do  not  mean  to  part 
with  a serviceable  ground  of  complaint,  and  one  which  really 
is  such  for  the  horses,  to  me  secretly  is  an  advantage,0  since  1(3 
it  compels  us  to  look  sharply  for  this  lost  hour  amongst  the 
next  eight  or  nine,  and  to  recover  it  (if  we  can)  at  the  rate  of 
one  mile  extra  per  hour.  Off  we  are  at  last,  and  at  eleven 
miles  an  hour;  and  for  the  moment  I detect  no  changes  in 
the  energy  or  in  the  skill  of  Cyclops.  15 

From  Manchester  to  Kendal,0  which  virtually  (though  not 
in  law)  is  the  capital  of  Westmorland,  there  were  at  this 
time  seven  stages  of  eleven  miles  each.  The  first  five  of  these, 
counting  from  Manchester,  terminate  in  Lancaster;  which 
is  therefore  fiftv-five  miles  north  of  Manchester,  and  the  20 
same  distance  exactly  from  Liverpool.  The  first  three  stages 
terminate  in  Preston  (called,  by  way  of  distinction  from 
other  towns  of  that  name,  Proud  Preston) ; at  which  place 
it  is  that  the  separate  roads  from  Liverpool  and  from  Man- 
chester to  the  north  become  confluent.0  Within  these  first  25 
three  stages  lay  the  foundation,  the  progress,  and  termina- 
tion of  our  night's  adventure.  During  the  first  stage,  I found 
out  that  Cyclops  was  mortal : he  was  liable  to  the  shocking 
affection  of  sleep  — a thing  which  previously  I had  never 
suspected.  If  a man  indulges  in  the  vicious  habit  of  sleeping,  30 
all  the  skill  in  aurigation  of  Apollo  himself,  with  the  horses 
of  Aurora  to  execute  his  notions,0  avails  him  nothing.  “Oh, 
Cyclops!"  I exclaimed,  “thou  art  mortal.  My  friend,  thou 


74  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


snorest."  Through  the  first  eleven  miles,  however,  this  in- 
firmity0 — which  I grieve  to  say  that  he  shared  with  the  whole 
Pagan  Pantheon0  — betrayed  itself  only  by  brief  snatches. 
On  waking  up,  he  made  an  apology  for  himself  which,  instead 
5 of  mending  matters,  laid  open  a gloomy  vista  of  coming  dis- 
asters.  The  summer  assizes,0  he  reminded  me,  were  now 
going  on  at  Lancaster : in  consequence  of  which  for  three 
nights  and  three  days  he  had  not  lain  down  in  a bed.  During 
the  day  he  was  waiting  for  his  own  summons  as  a witness  on 
10  the  trial  in  which  he  was  interested,  or  else,  lest  he  should 
be  missing  at  the  critical  moment,  was  drinking  with  the 
other  witnesses  under  the  pastoral  surveillance  of  the  attor- 
neys. During  the  night,  or  that  part  of  it  which  at  sea  would 
form  the  middle  watch,0  he  was  driving.  This  explanation 
15  certainly  accounted  for  his  drowsiness,  but  in  a way  which 
made  it  much  more  alarming ; since  now,  after  several  days' 
resistance  to  this  infirmity,  at  length  he  was  steadily  giving 
way.  Throughout  the  second  stage  he  grew  more  and  more 
drowsy.  In  the  second  mile  of  the  third  stage  he  surren- 
20  dered  himself  finally  and  without  a struggle  to  his  perilous 
temptation.  All  his  past  resistance  had  but  deepened  the 
weight  of  this  final  oppression.  Seven  atmospheres  of  sleep0 
rested  upon  him;  and,  to  consummate  the  case,  our  worthy 
guard,  after  singing  “Love  amongst  the  Roses"0  for  perhaps 
25  thirty  times,  without  invitation  and  without  applause,  had 
in  revenge  moodily  resigned  himself  to  slumber  — not  so 
deep,  doubtless,  as  the  coachman's,  but  deep  enough  for 
mischief.  And  thus  at  last,  about  ten  miles  from  Preston, 
it  came  about  that  I found  myself  left  in  charge  of  his 
30  Majesty  ’s  London  and  Glasgow  mail,  then  running  at  the  least 
twelve  miles  an  hour. 

What  made  this  negligence  less  criminal  than  else  it  must 
have  been  thought  was  the  condition  of  the  roads  at  night 


I 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


75 


during  the  assizes.  At  that  time,  all  the  law  business  of 
populous  Liverpool,  and  also  of  populous  Manchester,  with 
its  vast  cincture  of  populous  rural  districts,  was  called  up  by 
ancient  usage  to  the  tribunal  of  Lilliputian  Lancaster.0  To 
break  up  this  old  traditional  usage  required,  1,  a conflict  5 
with  powerful  established  interests,  2,  a large  system  of  new 
arrangements,  and  3,  a new  parliamentary  statute.  But  as 
yet  this  change  was  merely  in  contemplation.0  As  things 
were  at  present,  twice  in  the  vear°  so  vast  a body  of  business 
rolled  northwards  from  the  southern  quarter  of  the  county  1G 
that  for  a fortnight  at  least  it  occupied  the  severe  exertions 
of  two  judges  in  its  despatch.  The  consequence  of  this  was 
that  every  horse  available  for  such  a service,  along  the  whole 
line  of  road,  was  exhausted  in  carrying  down  the  multitudes 
of  people  who  were  parties  to  the  different  suits.  By  sunset,  15 
therefore,  it  usually  happened  that,  through  utter  exhaustion 
amongst  men  and  horses,  the  road  sank  into  profound  silence. 
Except  the  exhaustion  in  the  vast  adjacent  county  of  York 
from  a contested  election,  no  such  silence  succeeding  to  no 
such  fiery  uproar  was  ever  witnessed  in  England.  20 

On  this  occasion  the  usual  silence  and  solitude  prevailed 
along  the  road.  Not  a hoof  nor  a wheel  was  to  be  heard. 
And,  to  strengthen  this  false  luxurious  confidence  in  the 
noiseless  roads,  it  happened  also  that  the  night  was  one  of 
peculiar  solemnity  and  peace.  For  my  own  part,  though  25 
slightly  alive  to  the  possibilities  of  peril,  I had  so  far  yielded 
to  the  influence  of  the  mighty  calm  as  to  sink  into  a profound 
reverie.  The  month  was  August;  in  the  middle  of  which 
lay  my  own  birthday0  — a festival  to  every  thoughtful  man 
suggesting  solemn  and  often  sigh-born0  thoughts.  The  30 
county  was  my  own  native  county  — upon  which,  in  its 
southern  section,  more  than  upon  any  equal  area  known  to 
man  past  or  present,  had  descended  the  original  curse  of 


76  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


labour  in  its  heaviest  form,  not  mastering  the  bodies  only  oi 
men,  as  of  slaves,  or  criminals  in  mines,  but  working  through 
the  fiery  will.  Upon  no  equal  space  of  earth  was,  or  ever  had 
been,  the  same  energy  of  human  power  put  forth  daily.0  At 
5 this  particular  season  also  of  the  assizes,  that  dreadful  hurri- 
cane of  flight  and  pursuit,  as  it  might  have  seemed  to  a 
stranger,  which  swept  to  and  from  Lancaster  all  day  long, 
hunting  the  county  up  and  down,  and  regularly  subsiding 
back  into  silence  about  sunset,  could  not  fail  (when  united 
10  with  this  permanent  distinction  of  Lancashire  as  the  very 
metropolis  and  citadel  of  labour)  to  point  the  thoughts  pa- 
thetically upon  that  counter-vision  of  rest,  of  saintly  repose 
from  strife  and  sorrow,  towards  which,  as  to  their  secret 
haven,  the  profounder  aspirations  of  man’s  heart  are  in  soli- 
15  tude  continually  travelling.  Obliquely  upon  our  left  we 
were  nearing  the  sea° ; which  also  must,  under  the  present 
circumstances,  be  repeating  the  general  state  of  halcyon 
repose.  The  sea,  the  atmosphere,  the  light,  bore  each  an 
orchestral  part  in  this  universal  lull.  Moonlight  and  the 
20  first  timid  tremblings  of  the  dawn  were  by  this  time  blend- 
ing; and  the  blendings  were  brought  into  a still  more  ex- 
quisite state  of  unity  by  a slight  silvery  mist,  motionless  and 
dreamy,  that  covered  the  woods  and  fields,  but  with  a veil 
of  equable  transparency.  Except  the  feet  of  our  own  horses, 
25  — which,  running  on  a sandy  margin  of  the  road,  made  but 
little  disturbance,  — there  was  no  sound  abroad.  In  the 
clouds  and  on  the  earth  prevailed  the  same  majestic  peace; 
and,  in  spite  of  all  that  the  villain  of  a schoolmaster  has  done 
for  the  ruin  of  our  sublimer  thoughts,  which  are  the  thoughts 
30  of  our  infancy,  we  still  believe  in  no  such  nonsense  as  a limited 
atmosphere.0  Whatever  we  may  swear  with  our  false  feign- 
ing lips,  in  our  faithful  hearts  we  still  believe,  and  must  for 
ever  believe,  in  fields  of  air  traversing  the  total  gulf  between 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


77 


earth  and  the  central  heavens.  Still,  in  the  confidence  of 
children  that  tread  without  fear  every  chamber  in  their  father's 
house,  and  to  whom  no  door  is  closed,  we,  in  that  Sabbatic0 
vision  which  sometimes  is  revealed  for  an  hour  upon  nights 
like  this,  ascend  with  easy  steps  from  the  sorrow-stricken  5 
fields  of  earth  upwards  to  the  sandals  of  God. 

Suddenly,  from  thoughts  like  these  I was  awakened  to  a 
sullen  sound,  as  of  some  motion  on  the  distant  road.  It 
stole  upon  the  air  for  a moment ; I listened  in  awe ; but  then 
it  died  away.  Once  roused,  however,  I could  not  but  ob-10 
serve  with  alarm  the  quickened  motion  of  our  horses.  Ten 
years'  experience  had  made  my  eye  learned  in  the  valuing 
of  motion ; and  I ‘saw  that  we  were  now  running  thirteen 
miles  an  hour.  I pretend  to  no  presence  of  mind.  On  the 
contrary,  my  fear  is  that  I am  miserably  and  shamefully  15 
deficient  in  that  quality  as  regards  action.  The  palsy  of 
doubt  and  distraction  hangs  like  some  guilty  weight  of  dark 
unfathomed  remembrances  upon  my  energies  when  the  signal 
is  flying  for  action But,  on  the  other  hand,  this  accursed 
gift  I have,  as  regards  thought , that  in  the  first  step  towards  20 
the  possibility  of  a misfortune  I see  its  total  evolution;  in 
the  radix  of  the  series  I see  too  certainly  and  too  instantly 
its  entire  expansion ; in  the  first  syllable  of  the  dreadful  sen- 
tence I read  already  the  last.  It  was  not  that  I feared  for 
ourselves.  Us  our  bulk  and  impetus  charmed  against  peril  25 
in  any  collision.  And  I had  ridden  through  too  many  hun- 
dreds of  perils  that  were  frightful  to  approach,  that  were 
matter  of  laughter  to  look  back  upon,  the  first  face  of  which 
was  horror,  the  parting  face  a jest  — for  any  anxiety  to  rest 
upon  our  interests.  The  mail  was  not  built,  I felt  assured,  30 
nor  bespoke,  that  could  betray  me  who  trusted  to  its  protec- 
tion. But  any  carriage  that  w’e  could  meet  would  be  frail 
and  light  in  comparison  of  ourselves.  And  I remarked  this 


78  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  I)E  QUINCE  Y 


ominous  accident  of  our  situation,  — we  were  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  road.°  But  then,  it  may  be  said,  the  other  party, 
if  other  there  was,  might  also  be  on  the  wrong  side ; and  two 
wrongs  might  make  a right.  That  was  not  likely.  The 
5 same  motive  which  had  drawn  us  to  the  right-hand  side  of 
the  road  — viz.  the  luxury  of  the  soft  beaten  sand  as  con- 
trasted with  the  paved  centre  — would  prove  attractive  to 
others.  The  two  adverse  carriages  would  therefore,  to  a cer- 
tainty, be  travelling  on  the  same  side ; and  from  this  side,  as 
10  not  being  ours  in  law,  the  crossing  over  to  the  other  would, 
of  course,  be  looked  for  from  us.°  Our  lamps,  still  lighted, 
would  give  the  impression  of  vigilance  on  our  part.  And 
*very  creature  that  met  us  would  rely  upon  us  for  quarter- 
ing.0 All  this,  and  if  the  separate  links  of  the  anticipation 
15  had  been  a thousand  times  more,  I saw,  not  discursively,  or 
by  effort,  or  by  succession,  but  by  one  flash  of  horrid  simul- 
taneous intuition. 

Under  this  steady  though  rapid  anticipation  of  the  evil 
which  might  be  gathering  ahead,  ah ! what  a sullen  mystery 
20  of  fear,  what  a sigh  of  woe,  was  that  which  stole  upon  the 
air,  as  again  the  far-off  sound  of  a wheel  was  heard ! A 
whisper  it  was  — a whisper  from,  perhaps,  four  miles  off  — 
secretly  announcing  a ruin  that,  being  foreseen,  was  not  the 
less  inevitable ; that,  being  known,  was  not  therefore  healed. 
25  What  could  be  done  — who  was  it  that  could  do  it  — to 
check  the  storm-flight  of  these  maniacal  horses?  Could  I 
not  seize  the  reins  from  the  grasp  of  the  slumbering  coach- 
man? You,  reader,  think  that  it  would  have  been  in  your 
power  to  do  so.  And  I quarrel  not  with  your  estimate  of 
30  yourself.  But,  from  the  way  in  which  the  coachman's  hand 
was  viced  between  his  upper  and  lower  thigh,  this  was  im- 
possible.0 Easy  was  it?  See,  then,  that  bronze  equestrian 
statue.  The  cruel  rider  has  kept  the  bit  in  his  horse  s mouth 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


79 


ior  two  centuries.  Unbridle  him  for  a minute,  if  you  please, 
and  wash  his  mouth  with  water.  Easy  was  it?  Unhorse 
me,  then,  that  imperial  rider;  knock  me  those,  marble  feet 
from  those  marble  stirrups  of  Charlemagne. 

The  sounds  ahead  strengthened,  and  were  now  too  clearly  8 
the  sounds  of  wheels.  Who  and  what  could  it  be?  Was  it 
industry  in  a taxed  cart°?  Was  it  youthful  gaiety  in  a gig? 
Was  it  sorrow  that  loitered,  or  joy  that  raced?  For  as  yet 
the  snatches  of  sound  were  too  intermitting,  from  distance, 
to  decipher  the  character  of  the  motion.  Whoever  were  the  Id 
travellers,  something  must  be  done  to  warn  them.  Upon  the 
other  party  rests  the  active  responsibility,  but  upon  us  — 
and,  woe  is  me ! that  us  was  reduced  to  my  frail  opium- 
shattered  self  — rests  the  responsibility  of  warning.  Yet, 
how  should  this  be  accomplished  ? Might  I not  sound  the  15 
guard's  horn?  Already,  on  the  first  thought,  I was  making 
my  way  over  the  roof  to  the  guard's  seat.  But  this,  from 
the  accident  which  I have  mentioned,0  of  the  foreign  mails 
being  piled  upon  the  roof,  was  a difficult  and  even  dangerous 
attempt  to  one  cramped  by  nearly  three  hundred  miles  or  20 
outside  travelling.  And,  fortunately,  before  I had  lost  much 
time  in  the  attempt,  our  frantic  horses  swept  round  an  angie 
of  the  road  which  opened  upon  us  that  final  stage  where  the 
collision  must  be  accomplished  and  the  catastrophe  sealed. 
All  was  apparently  finished.  The  court  was  sitting;  the 25 
case  was  heard ; the  judge  had  finished;  and  only  the  verdict 
was  yet  in  arrear. 

Before  us  lay  an  avenue  straight  as  an  arrow,  six  hundred 
yards,  perhaps,  in  length;  and  the  umbrageous  trees,  which 
rose  in  a regular  line  from  either  side,  meeting  high  overhead,  30 
gave  to  it  the  character  of  a cathedral  aisle.  These  trees 
lent  a deeper  solemnity  to  the  early  light ; but  there  was  still 
light  enough  to  perceive,  at  the  further  end  of  this  Gothic 


80  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


aisle,0  a frail  reedy  gig,  in  which  were  seated  a young  man^ 
and  by  his  side  a young  lady.  Ah,  young  sir  ! what  are  }rou 
about  ? If  it  is  requisite  that  you  should  whisper  your  com- 
munications to  this  young  lady  — though  really  I see  nobody, 
5 at  an  hour  and  on  a road  so  solitary,  likely  to  overhear  you  — ■ 
is  it  therefore  requisite  that  you  should  carry  your  lips  for- 
ward to  hers?  The  little  carriage  is  creeping  on  at  one  mile 
an  hour;  and  the  parties  within  it,  being  thus  tenderly  en- 
gaged, are  naturally  bending  down  their  heads.  Between 
10  them  and  eternity,  to  all  human  calculation,  there  is  but  a 
minute  and  a-half . Oh  heavens  ! what  is  it  that  I shall  do  ? 
Speaking  or  acting,  what  help  can  I offer?  Strange  it  is, 
and  to  a mere  auditor  of  the  tale  might  seem  laughable,  that 
I should  need  a suggestion  from  the  Iliad ° to  prompt  the  sole 
15  resource  that  remained.  Yet  so  it  was.  Suddenly  I re- 
membered the  shout  of  Achilles,  and  its  effect.  But  could  I 
pretend  to  shout  like  the  son  of  Peleus,  aided  by  Pallas? 
No : but  then  I needed  not  the  shout  that  should  alarm  all 
Asia  militant ; such  a shout  would  suffice  as  might  carry 
20  terror  into  the  hearts  of  two  thoughtless  young  people  and 
one  gig-horse-  I shouted  — and  the  young  man  heard  me 
not.  A second  time  I shouted  — and  now  he  heard  me,  for 
now  he  raised  his  head. 

Here,  then,  all  had  been  done  that,  by  me,  could  be  done; 
25  more  on  my  part  was  not  possible.  Mine  had  been  the  first 
step ; the  second  was  for  the  young  man ; the  third  was  for 
God.  If,  said  I,  this  stranger  is  a brave  man,  and  if  indeed 
he  loves  the  young  girl  at  his  side  — or,  loving  her  not,  if  he 
feels  the  obligation,  pressing  upon  every  man  worthy  to  be 
30  called  a man,  of  doing  his  utmost  for  a woman  confided  to 
his  protection  — he  will  at  least  make  some  effort  to  save  her. 
If  that  fails,  he  will  not  perish  the  more,  or  by  a death  more 
cruel,  for  having  made  it;  and  he  will  die  as  a brave  man 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


81 


should,  with  his  face  to  the  danger,  and  with  his  arm  about 
the  woman  that  he  sought  in  vain  to  save.  But,  if  he  makes 
no  effort,  — shrinking  without  a struggle  from  his  duty,  — he 
himself  will  not  the  less  certainly  perish  for  this  baseness  of 
poltroonery.  He  will  die  no  less : and  why  not  ? Wherefore  5 
should  we  grieve  that  there  is  one  craven  less  in  the  world? 
No ; let  him  perish,  without  a pitying  thought  of  ours  wasted 
upon  him ; and,  in  that  case,  all  our  grief  will  be  reserved  for 
the  fate  of  the  helpless  girl  who  now,  upon  the  least  shadow 
of  failure  in  him,  must  bv  the  fiercest  of  translations  — must  10 
without  time  for  a prayer  — must  within  seventy  seconds  — 
stand  before  the  judgment-seat  of  God. 

But  craven  he  was  not : sudden  had  been  the  call  upon 
him,  and  sudden  was  his  answer  to  the  call.  He  saw,  he 
heard,  he  comprehended,  the  ruin  that  was  coming  down : 15 
already  its  gloomy  shadow  darkened  above  him ; and  already 
he  was  measuring  his  strength  to  deal  with  it.  Ah ! what  a 
vulgar  thing  does  courage  seem  when  we  see  nations  buying 
it  and  selling  it  for  a shilling  a-day° : ah ! what  a sublime 
thing  does  courage  seem  when  some  fearful  summons  on  the  20 
great  deeps  of  life  carries  a man,  as  if  running  before  a 
hurricane,  up  to  the  giddy  crest  of  some  tumultuous  crisis 
from  which  lie  two  courses,  and  a voice  says  to  him  audibly, 
“One  way  lies  hope;  take  the  other,  and  mourn  for  ever!” 
How  grand  a triumph  if,  even  then,  amidst  the  raving  of  all  25 
around  him,  and  the  frenzy  of  the  danger,  the  man  is  able  to 
confront  his  situation  — is  able  to  retire  for  a moment  into 
solitude  with  God,  and  to  seek  his  counsel  from  Him! 

For  seven  seconds,  it  might  be,  of  his  seventy,  the  stranger 
settled  his  countenance  stedfastly  upon  us,  as  if  to  search  and  30 
value  every  element  in  the  conflict  before  him.  For  five 
seconds  more  of  his  seventy  he  sat  immovably,  like  one  that 
mused  on  some  great  purpose.  For  five  more,  perhaps,  he 


82  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QU1NCEY 


sat  with  eyes  upraised,  like  one  that  prayed  in  sorrow,  undei 
some  extremity  of  doubt,  for  light  that  should  guide  him  to 
the  better  choice.  Then  suddenly  he  rose;  stood  upright; 
and,  by  a powerful  strain  upon  the  reins,  raising  his  horse's 
5 fore-feet  from  the  ground,  he  slewed  him  round  on  the  pivot 
of  kis  hind-legs,  so  as  to  plant  the  little  equipage  in  a position 
nearly  at  right  angles  to  ours.  Thus  far  his  condition  was 
not  improved ; except  as  a first  step  had  been  taken  towards 
the  possibility  of  a second.  If  no  more  were  done,  nothing 
10  was  done  ; for  the  little  carriage  still  occupied  the  very  centre 
of  our  path,  though  in  an  altered  direction.  Yet  even  now 
it  may  not  be  too  late : fifteen  of  the  seventy  seconds  may 
wall  be  unexhausted ; and  one  almighty  bound  may  avail  to 
clear  the  ground.  Hurry,  then,  hurry ! for  the  flying 
15  moments  — they  hurry.  Oh,  hurry,  hurry,  my  brave  young 
man  ! for  the  cruel  hoofs  of  our  horses  — they  also  hurry ! 
Fast  are  the  flying  moments,  faster  are  the  hoofs  of  our 
horses.  But  fear  not  for  him , if  human  energy  can  suffice; 
faithful  was  he  that  drove  to  his  terrific  dutv;  faithful  was 
20  the  horse  to  his  command.  One  blow,  one  impulse  given 
with  voice  and  hand,  by  the  stranger,  one  rush  from  the 
horse,  one  bound  as  if  in  the  act  of  risk  g to  a fence,  landed 
the  docile  creature's  fore-feet  upon  the  crown  or  arching 
centre  of  the  road.  The  larger  half  of  the  little  equipage 
25  had  then  cleared  our  over-towering  shadow : that  was 

evident  even  to  my  own  agitated  sight.  But  it  mattered 
little  that  one  wreck  should  float  off  in  safety  if  upon  the 
wreck  that  perished  were  embarked  the  human  freightage. 
The  rear  part  of  the  carriage  — was  that  certainly  beyond  the 
30  line  of  absolute  ruin?  What  power  could  answer  the  ques- 
tion ? Glance  of  eye,  thought  of  man,  wing  of  angel,  which  of 
these  had  speed  enough  to  sweep  between  the  question  and 
the  answer,  and  divide  the  one  from  the  other?  Light 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


83 


does  not  tread  upon  the  steps  of  light  more  indivisibly  than 
did  our  all-conquering  arrival  upon  the  escaping  efforts  of 
the  gig.  That  must  the  young  man  have  felt  too  plainly. 
His  back  was  now  turned  to  us;  not  by  sight  could  he  any 
longer  communicate  with  the  peril;  but,  by  the  dreadful 
rattle  of  our  harness,  too  truly  had  his  ear  been  instructed 
that  all  was  finished  as  regarded  any  effort  of  his . Already 
in  resignation  he  had  rested  from  his  struggle;  and  perhaps 
in  his  heart  he  was  whispering,  “ Father,  which  art  in  heaven, 
do  Thou  finish  above  what  I on  earth  have  attempted.” 
Faster  than  ever  mill-race  we  ran  past  them  in  our  inexorable 
flight.0  Oh,  raving  of  hurricanes  that  must  have  sounded 
in  their  young  ears  at  the  moment  of  our  transit ! Even  in 
that  moment  the  thunder  of  collision  spoke  aloud.  Either 
with  the  swingle-bar,  or  with  the  haunch  of  our  near  leader, 
we  had  struck  the  off-wheel  of  the  little  gig;  which  stood 
rather  obliquely,  and  not  quite  so  far  advanced  as  to  be 
accurately  parallel  with  the  near-wheel.  The  blow,  from 
the  fury  of  our  passage,  resounded  terrifically.  I rose  in 
horror,  to  gaze  upon  the  ruins  we  might  have  caused.  From 
my  elevated  station  I looked  down,  and  looked  back  upon 
the  scene;  which  in  a moment  told  its  own  tale,  and  wrote 
all  its  records  on  my  heart  for  ever. 

Here  was  the  map  of  the  passion  that  now  had  finished.® 
The  horse  was  planted  immovably,  with  his  fore-feet  upon 
the  paved  crest  of  the  central  road.  He  of  the  whole  parry 
might  be  supposed  untouched  by  the  passion  of  death.  The 
little  cany  carriage  — partly,  perhaps,  from  the  violent  tor- 
sion of  the  wheels  in  its  recent  movement,  partly  from  the 
thundering  blow  we  had  given  to  it  — as  if  it  sympathised 
with  human  horror,  was  all  alive  with  tremblings  and  shiver- 
ings.  The  young  man  trembled  not,  nor  shivered.  He  sat 
like  a rock.  But  his  was  the  steadiness  of  agitation  frozen 


6 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


84  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


into  rest  by  horror.  As  yet  he  dared  not  to  look  round; 
for  he  knew  that,  if  anything  remained  to  do,  by  him  it  could 
no  longer  be  done.  And  as  yet  he  knew  not  for  certain  if 
their  safety  were  accomplished.  But  the  lady  — 

5 But  the  lady  — ! Oh,  heavens  ! will  that  spectacle  ever 
depart  from  my  dreams,  as  she  rose  and  sank  upon  her  seat, 
sank  and  rose,  threw  up  her  arms  wildly  to  heaven,  clutched 
at  some  visionary  object  in  the  air,  fainting,  praying,  raving, 
despairing?  Figure  to  yourself,  reader,  the  elements  of  the 
10  case ; suffer  me  to  recall  before  vour  mind  the  circumstances 
of  that  unparalleled  situation.  From  the  silence  and  deep 
peace  of  this  saintly  summer  night  — from  the  pathetic 
blending  of  this  sweet  moonlight,  dawnlight,  dreamlight0  — 
from  the  manly  tenderness  of  this  flattering,  whispering, 
15  murmuring  love  — suddenly  as  from  the  woods  and  fields  — 
suddenly  as  from  the  chambers  of  the  air  opening  in  revela- 
tion— suddenly  as  from  the  ground  yawning  at  her  feet, 
leaped  upon  her,  with  the  flashing  of  cataracts,  Death  the 
crowned  phantom,  with  all  the  equipage  of  his  terrors,  and 
20  the  tiger  roar  of  his  voice. 

The  moments  were  numbered;  the  strife  was  finished; 
the  vision  was  closed.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  our 
flying  horses  had  carried  us  to  the  termination  of  the  um- 
brageous aisle;  at  the  right  angles  we  wheeled  into  our 
25  former  direction ; the  turn  of  the  road  carried  the  scene  out 
of  my  eyes  in  an  instant,  and  swept  it  into  my  dreams  for 
ever. 


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85 


Section  III  — Dream-Fugue0  : 

FOUNDED  ON  THE  PRECEDING  THEME  OF  SUDDEN  DEATH 

“ Whence  the  sound 

Of  instruments,  that  made  melodious  chime, 

Was  heard,  of  harp  and  organ  ; and  who  moved 
Their  stops  and  chords  was  seen  ; his  volant  touch 
Instinct  through  all  proportions,  low  and  high,  5 

Fled  and  pursued  transverse  the  resonant  fugue.” 

Par . Lost , Bk.  XI.° 

Tumultuosissimamente0 

Passion  of  sudden  death ! that  once  in  youth  I read  and 
interpreted  by  the  shadows  of  thy  averted  signs0  ! — rapture  1C 
of  panic  taking  the  shape  (which  amongst  tombs  in  churches 
I have  seen)  of  woman  bursting  her  sepulchral  bonds  — of 
woman’s  Ionic  form0  bending  forward  from  the  ruins  of  her 
grave  with  arching  foot,  with  eyes  upraised,  with  clasped 
adoring  hands  — waiting,  watching,  trembling,  praying  for  15 
the  trumpet’s  call  to  rise  from  dust  for  ever0 ! Ah,  vision 
too  fearful  of  shuddering  humanity  on  the  brink  of  almighty 
abysses  ! — vision  that  didst  start  back,  that  didst  reel  away, 
like  a shrivelling  scroll  from  before  the  wrath  of  fire  racing 
on  the  wings  of  the  wind!  Epilepsy  so  brief  of  horror,  20 
wherefore  is  it  that  thou  canst  not  die  ? Passing  so  suddenly 
into  darkness,  wherefore  is  it  that  still  thou  sheddest  thy  sad 
funeral  blights  upon  the  gorgeous  mosaics  of  dreams?  Frag- 
ment of  music  too  passionate,  heard  once,  and  heard  no 
more,  what  aileth  thee,  that  thy  deep  rolling  chords  come  25 
up  at  intervals  through  all  the  worlds  of  sleep,  and  after 
forty  years0  have  lost  no  element  of  horror  ? 

I 

Lo,  it  is  summer  — almighty  summer ! The  everlasting 
gates  of  life  and  summer  are  thrown  open  wide : and  on  the 


86  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCEY 


ocean,  tranquil  and  verdant  as  a savannah,  the  unknown 
lady  from  the  dreadful  vision  and  I myself  are  floating  — she 
upon  a fairy  pinnace,  and  I upon  an  English  three-decker.0 
Both  of  us  are  wooing  gales  of  festal  happiness  within  the 
5 domain  of  our  common  country,  within  that  ancient  watery 
park,  within  the  pathless  chase  of  ocean,  where  England  takes 
her  pleasure  as  a huntress  through  winter  and  summer,  from 
the  rising  to  the  setting  sun.  Ah,  what  a wilderness  of  floral 
beauty  was  hidden,  or  was  suddenly  revealed,  upon  the 
10  tropic  islands  through  which  the  pinnace  moved  ! And  upon 
her  deck  what  a bevy  of  human  flowers : young  women  how 
lovely,  young  men  how  noble,  that  were  dancing  together, 
and  slowly  drifting  towards  us  amidst  music  and  incense, 
amidst  blossoms  from  forests  and  gorgeous  corymbi0  from 
15  vintages,  amidst  natural  carolling,  and  the  echoes  of  sweet 
girlish  laughter.  Slowly  the  pinnace  nears  us,  gaily  she 
hails  us,  and  silently  she  disappears  beneath  the  shadow  of 
our  mighty  bows.  But  then,  as  at  some  signal  from  heaven, 
the  music,  and  the  carols,  and  the  sweet  echoing  of  girlish 
20  laughter  — all  are  hushed.  What  evil  has  smitten  the  pin- 
nace, meeting  or  overtaking  her?  Did  ruin  to  our  friends 
couch  within  our  own  dreadful  shadow  ? Was  our  shadow 

the  shadow  of  death  ? I looked  over  the  bow  for  an  answer. 

* 

and,  behold ! the  pinnace  was  dismantled ; the  revel  and  the 
25  revellers  were  found  no  more  ; the  glory  of  the  vintage  was 
dust;  and  the  forests  with  their  beauty  were  left  without  a 
witness  upon  the  seas.  “But  where/'  and  I turned  to  our 
crew  — “where  are  the  lovely  women  that  danced  beneath 
the  awning  of  flowers  and  clustering  corymbi?  Whither 
30 have  fled  the  noble  young  men  that  danced  with  them?” 
Answer  there  was  none.  But  suddenly  the  man  at  the 
mast-head,  whose  countenance  darkened  with  alarm,  cried 
out,  “Sail  on  the  weather  beam0!  Down  she  comes  upon 
us:  in  seventy  seconds  she  will  founder/'’ 


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87 


II 

I looked  to  the  weather  side,  and  the  summer  had  de- 
parted. The  sea  was  rocking,  and  shaken  with  gathering 
wrath.  Upon  its  surface  sat  mighty  mists,  which  grouped 
themselves  into  arches  and  long  cathedral  aisles.  Down  one 
of  these,  with  the  fiery  pace  of  a quarrel0  from  a cross-bow, 
ran  a frigate  right  athwart  our  course.  “Are  they  mad?” 
some  voice  exclaimed  from  our  deck.  “Do  they  woo  their 
ruin?”  But  in  a moment,  as  she  was  close  upon  us,  some 
impulse  of  a heady  current0  or  local  vortex  gave  a wheeling 
bias  to  her  course,  and  off  she  forged  without  a shock  As 
she  ran  past  us,  high  aloft  amongst  the  shrouds  stood  the 
lady  of  the  pinnace.  The  deeps  opened  ahead  in  malice  to 
receive  her,  towering  surges  of  foam  ran  after  her,  the  billows 
were  fierce  to  catch  her.  But  far  away  she  was  borne  into 
desert  spaces  of  the  sea : whilst  still  by  sight  I followed  her, 
as  she  ran  before  the  howling  gale,  chased  by  angry  sea-birds 
and  by  maddening  billows ; still  I saw  her,  as  at  the  moment 
when  she  ran  past  us,  standing  amongst  the  shrouds,  with 
her  white  draperies  streaming  before  the  wind.  There  she 
stood,  with  hair  dishevelled,  one  hand  clutched  amongst  the 
tackling  — rising,  sinking,  fluttering,  trembling,  praying0 ; 
there  for  leagues  I saw  her  as  she  stood,  raising  at  intervals 
one  hand  to  heaven,  amidst  the  fiery  crests  of  the  pursuing 
waves  and  the  raving  of  the  storm;  until  at  last,  upon  a 
sound  from  afar  of  malicious  laughter  and  mockery,  all  was 
hidden  for  ever  in  driving  showers;  and  afterwards,  but 
when  I know  not,  nor  how, 

hi 

X 

Sweet  funeral  bells  from  some  incalculable  distance, 
wailing  over  the  dead  that  die  before  the  dawn,  awakened 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 


88  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


me  as  I slept  in  a boat  moored  to  some  familiar  shore.  The 
morning  twilight  even  then  was  breaking;  and,  by  the 
dusky  revelations  which  it  spread,  I saw  a girl,  adorned 
with  a garland  of  white  roses  about  her  head  for  some  great 
5 festival,  running  along  the  solitary  strand  in  extremity  of 
haste.  Her  running  was  the  running  of  panic;  and  often 
she  looked  back  as  to  some  dreadful  enemy  in  the  rear. 
But,  when  I leaped  ashore,  and  followed  on  her  steps  to  warn 
her  of  a peril  in  front,  alas  ! from  me  she  fled  as  from  another 
10  peril,  and  vainly  I shouted  to  her  of  quicksands  that  lay 
ahead.  Faster  and  faster  she  ran;  round  a promontory  of 
rocks  she  wheeled  out  of  sight;  in  an  instant  I also  wheeled 
round  it,  but  only  to  see  the  treacherous  sands  gathering 
above  her  head.  Already  her  person  was  buried;  only  the 
15  fair  young  head  and  the  diadem  of  white  roses  around  it 
were  still  visible  to  the  pitying  heavens;  and,  last  of  all, 
was  visible  one  white  marble  arm.  I saw  by  the  early 
twilight  this  fair  young  head,  as  it  was  sinking  down  to 
darkness  — saw  this  marble  arm,  as  it  rose  above  her  head 
20  and  her  treacherous  grave,  tossing,  faltering,  rising,  clutching, 
as  at  some  false  deceiving  hand  stretched  out  from  the  clouds 

— saw  this  marble  arm  uttering  her  dying  hope,  and  then 
uttering  her  dying  despair.  The  head,  the  diadem,  the  arm 

— these  all  had  sunk ; at  last  over  these  also  the  cruel  quick- 
25  sand  had  closed ; and  no  memorial  of  the  fair  young  girl 

remained  on  earth,  except  my  own  solitary  tears,  and  the 
funeral  bells  from  the  desert  seas,  that,  rising  again  more 
softly,  sang  a requiem  over  the  grave  of  the  buried  child, 
and  over  her  blighted  dawn. 

30  I sat,  and  wept  in  secret  the  tears  that  men  have  ever 
given  to  the  memory  of  those  that  died  before  the  dawn, 
and  by  the  treachery  of  earth,  our  mother.  But  suddenly 
the  tears  and  funeral  bells  were  hushed  by  a shout  as  of 

/ 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


89 


many  nations,  and  by  a roar  as  from  some  great  king's 
artillery,  advancing  rapidly  along  the  valleys,  and  heard  afar 
by  echoes  from  the  mountains.  “Hush!"  I said,  as  I bent 
my  ear  earthwards  to  listen — “hush! — this  either  is  the 
very  anarchy  of  strife,  or  else"  — and  then  I listened  more5 
profoundly,  and  whispered  as  I raised  my  head — “or  else, 
oh  heavens ! it  is  victory  that  is  final,  victory  that  swallows 
up  all  strife.0  " 


Immediately,  in  trance,  I was  carried  over  land  and  sea 
to  some  distant  kingdom,  and  placed  upon  a triumphal  car,  10 
amongst  companions  crowned  with  laurel.  The  darkness  of 
gathering  midnight,  brooding  over  all  the  land,  hid  from  us 
the  mighty  crowds  that  were  weaving  restlessly  about 
ourselves  as  a centre : we  heard  them,  but  saw  them  not. 
Tidings  had  arrived,  within  an  hour,  of  a grandeur  that  15 
measured  itself  against  centuries;  too  full  of  pathos  they 
were,  too  full  of  joy,  to  utter  themselves  by  other  language 
than  by  tears,  by  restless  anthems,  and  Te  Deums°  reverber- 
ated from  the  choirs  and  orchestras  of  earth.  These  tidings 
we  that  sat  upon  the  laurelled  car  had  it  for  our  privilege  20 
to  publish  amongst-  all  nations.  And  already,  by  signs 
audible  through  the  darkness,  by  snortings  and  tramplings, 
our  angry  horses,  that  knew  no  fear  of  fleshly  weariness, 
upbraided  us  with  delay.  Wherefore  was  it  that  we  delayed  ? 
We  waited  for  a secret  word,  that  should  bear  witness  to  the  25 
hope  of  nations  as  now  accomplished  for  ever.  At  midnight 
the  secret  word  arrived ; which  word  was  — W aterloo  and 
Recovered  Christendom0  ! The  dreadful  word  shone  by  its  own 
light;  before  us  it  went;  high  above  our  leaders'  heads  it 
rode,  and  spread  a golden  light  over  the  paths  which  we  30 


90  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


traversed.  Every  city,  at  the  presence  of  the  secret  word* 
threw  open  its  gates.  The  rivers  were  conscious  as  we 
crossed.0  All  the  forests,  as  we  ran  along  their  margins, 
shivered  in  homage  to  the  secret  word.  And  the  darkness 
5 comprehended  it.° 

Two  hours  after  midnight  we  approached  a mighty  Minster. 
Its  gates,  which  rose  to  the  clouds,  were  closed.  But,  when 
the  dreadful  word  that  rode  before  us  reached  them  with  its 
golden  light,  silently  they  moved  back  upon  their  hinges; 
10  and  at  a flying  gallop  our  equipage  entered  the  grand  aisle 
of  the  cathedral.  Headlong  was  our  pace;  and  at  every 
altar,  in  the  little  chapels  and  oratories  to  the  right  hand 
and  left  of  our  course,  the  lamps,  dying  or  sickening,  kindled 
anew  in  sympathy  with  the  secret  word  that  was  flying 
15  past.  Forty  leagues  we  might  have  run  in  the  cathedral, 
and  as  yet  no  strength  of  morning  light  had  reached  us, 
when  before  us  we  saw  the  aerial  galleries  of  organ  and  choir. 
Every  pinnacle  of  the  fretwork,  every  station  of  advantage0 
amongst  the  traceries,  was  crested  by  white-robed  choristers 
20 that  sang  deliverance;  that  wept  no  more  tears,  as  once 
their  fathers  had  wept;  but  at  intervals  that  sang  together 
to  the  generations, ^ saying, 

4t  Chant  the  deliverer’s  praise  in  every  tongue,”0 

and  receiving  answers  from  afar, 

25  “ Such  as  once  in  heaven  and  earth  were  sung.” 

And  of  their  chanting  was  no  end ; of  our  headlong  pace  was 
neither  pause  nor  slackening. 

Thus  as  we  ran  like  torrents  — thus  as  we  swept  with 
bridal  rapture  over  the  Campo  Santo0  of  the  cathedral 
30  graves  — suddenly  we  became  aware  of  a vast  necropolis 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


91 


rising  upon  the  far-off  horizon  — a city  of  sepulchres,  built 
within  the  saintly  cathedral  for  the  warrior  dead  that  rested 
from  their  feuds  on  earth.  Of  purple  granite  was  the  necrop- 
olis; yet,  in  the  first  minute,  it  lay  like  a purple  stain 
upon  the  horizon,  so  mighty  was  the  distance.  In  the 
second  minute  it  trembled  through  many  changes,  growing 
into  terraces  and  towers  of  wondrous  altitude,  so  mighty 
was  the  pace.  In  the  third  minute  already,  with  our  dread- 
ful gallop,  we  were  entering  its  suburbs.  Vast  sarcophagi 
rose  on  every  side,  having  towers  and  turrets  that,  upon  the 
limits  of  the  central  aisle,  strode  forward  with  haughty 
intrusion,  that  ran  back  with  mighty  shadows  into  answer- 
ing recesses.  Every  sarcophagus  showed  many  bas- 
reliefs  — bas-reliefs  of  battles  and  of  battle-fields ; battles 
from  forgotten  ages,  battles  from  yesterday;  battle-fields 
that,  long  since,  nature  had  healed  and  reconciled  to  herself 
with  the  sweet  oblivion  of  flowers;  battle-fields  that  were 
3^et  angry  and  crimson  with  carnage.  Where  the  terraces 
ran,  there  did  we  run ; where  the  towers  curved,  there  did  ive 
curve.  With  the  flight  of  swallows  our  horses  swept  round 
every  angle.  Like  rivers  in  flood  wheeling  round  headlands, 
like  hurricanes  that  ride  into  the  secrets  of  forests,  faster 
than  ever  light  unwove  the  mazes  of  darkness,  our  flying 
equipage  carried  earthly  passions,  kindled  warrior  instincts, 
amongst  the  dust  that  lay  around  us  — dust  oftentimes  of 
our  noble  fathers  that  had  slept  in  God  from  Creci°  to  Trafal- 
gar. And  now  had  we  reached  the  last  sarcophagus,  now 
were  we  abreast  of  the  last  bas-relief,  already  had  we  recov- 
ered the  arrow-like  flight  of  the  illimitable  central  aisle, 
when  coming  up  this  aisle  to  meet  us  we  beheld  afar  off  a 
female  child,  that  rode  in  a carriage  as  frail  as  flowers.  The 
mists  which  went  before  her  hid  the  fawns  that  drew  her, 
but  could  not  hide  the  shells  and  tropic  flowers  with  which 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


92  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


she  played  — but  could  not  hide  the  lovely  smiles  by  which 
she  uttered  her  trust  in  the  mighty  cathedral,  and  in  the 
cherubim  that  looked  down  upon  her  from  the  mighty 
shafts  of  its  pillars.  Face  to  face  she  was  meeting  us;  face 
5 to  face  she  rode,  as  if  danger  there  were  none.  “ Oh,  baby  ! ” 
I exclaimed,  “shalt  thou  be  the  ransom  for  Waterloo? 
Must  we,  that  carry  tidings  of  great  joy°  to  every  people,  be 
messengers  of  ruin  to  thee  ! ” In  horror  I rose  at  the  thought ; 
but  then  also,  in  horror  at  the  thought,  rose  one  that  was 
10  sculptured  on  a bas-relief  — a Dying  Trumpeter.  Solemnly 
from  the  field  of  battle  he  rose  to  his  feet;  and,  unslinging 
his  stony  trumpet,  carried  it,  in  his  dying  anguish,  to  his 
stony  lips  — sounding  once,  and  yet  once  again ; proclama- 
tion that,  in  thy  ears,  oh,  baby ! spoke  from  the  battlements 
15  of  death.  Immediately  deep  shadows  fell  between  us,  and 
aboriginal  silence.  The  choir  had  ceased  to  sing.  The 
hoofs  of  our  horses,  the  dreadful  rattle  of  our  harness,  the 
groaning  of  our  wheels,  alarmed  the  graves  no  more.  By 
horror  the  bas-relief  had  been  unlocked  unto  life.  By 
20  horror  we,  that  were  so  full  of  life,  we  men  and  our  horses, 
with  their  fiery  fore-legs  rising  in  mid  air  to  their  everlasting 
gallop,  were  frozen  to  a bas-relief.  Then  a third  time  the 
trumpet  sounded;  the  seals  were  taken  off  all  pulses;  life, 
and  the  frenzy  of  life,  tore  into  their  channels  again;  again 
25  the  choir  burst  forth  in  sunny  grandeur,  as  from  the  muffling 
of  storms  and  darkness ; again  the  thunderings  of  our 
horses  carried  temptation  into  the  graves.  One  cry  burst 
from  our  lips,  as  the  clouds,  drawing  off  from  the  aisle, 
showed  it  empty  before  us.  — “ Whither  has  the  infant  fled  ? — 
30 is  the  young  child  caught  up  to  God?”  Lo ! afar  off,  in  a 
vast  recess,  rose  three  mighty  windows  to  the  clouds;  and 
on  a level  with  their  summits,  at  height  insuperable  to  man, 
rose  an  altar  of  purest  alabaster.  On  its  eastern  face  was 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


93 


trembling  a crimson  glory.  A glory  was  it  from  the  reddening 
dawn  that  now  streamed  through  the  windows?  Was  it 
from  the  crimson  robes  of  the  martyrs  painted  on  the  win- 
dows? Was  it  from  the  bloody  bas-reliefs  of  earth?  There, 
suddenly,  within  that  crimson  radiance,  rose  the  apparitions 
of  a woman’s  head,  and  then  of  a woman’s  figure.  The 
child  it  was  — grown  up  to  woman’s  height.  Clinging  to  the 
horns  of  the  altar,0  voiceless  she  stood  — sinking,  rising, 
raving,  despairing;  and  behind  the  volume  of  incense  that, 
njght  and  day,  streamed  upwards  from  the  altar,  dimly  10 
was  seen  the  fiery  font,  and  the  shadow  of  that  dreadful 
being  who  should  have  baptized  her  with  the  baptism  of 
death.  But  by  her  side  was  kneeling  her  better  angel,  that 
hid  his  face  with  wings;  that  wept  and  pleaded  for  her; 
that  prayed  when  she  could  not;  that  fought  with  Heaven  by  15 
tears  for  her  deliverance  ; which  also,  as  he  raised  his  immortal 
countenance  from  his  wings,  I saw,  by  the  glory  in  his  eye 
that  from  Heaven  he  had  won  at  last. 

V 

Then  was  completed  the  passion  of  the  mighty  fugue. 
The  golden  tubes  of  the  organ,  which  as  yet  had  but  muttered  20 
at  intervals  — gleaming  amongst  clouds  and  surges  of  incense 
— threw  up,  as  from  fountains  unfathomable,  columns  of 
heart-shattering  music.  Choir  and  anti-choir  were  filling 
fast  with  unknown  voices.  Thou  also,  Dying  Trumpeter, 
with  thy  love  that  was  victorious,  and  thy  anguish  that  was  25 
finishing,  didst  enter  the  tumult ; trumpet  and  echo  — fare- 
well love,  and  farewell  anguish  — rang  through  the  dreadful 
sanctus.0  Oh,  darkness  of  the  grave  ! that  from  the  crimson 
altar  and  from  the  fiery  font  wert  visited  and  searched  by 
the  effulgence  in  the  angel’s  eye  — were  these  indeed  thy3c 


94  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


children?  Pomps  of  life,  that,  from  the  burials  of  centuries, 
rose  again  to  the  voice  of  perfect  joy,  did  ye  indeed  mingle 
with  the  festivals  of  Death?  Lo ! as  I looked  back  for 
seventy  leagues  through  the  might}’'  cathedral,  I saw  the 
5 quick  and  the  dead0  that  sang  together  to  God,  together  that 
sang  to  the  generations  of  man.  All  the  hosts  of  jubilation, 
like  armies  that  ride  in  pursuit,  moved  with  one  step.  Us, 
that,  with  laurelled  heads,  were  passing  from  the  cathedral, 
they  overtook,  and,  as  with  a garment,  they  wrapped  us  round 
10  with  thunders  greater  than  our  own.  As  brothers  we  moved 
together ; to  the  dawn  that  advanced,  to  the  stars  that  fled  ; 
rendering  thanks  to  God  in  the  highest0  — that,  having  hid 
His  face  through  one  generation  behind  thick  clouds  of  War, 
once  again  was  ascending,  from  the  Campo  Santo  of  Waterloo 
15  was  ascending,  in  the  visions  of  Peace ; rendering  thanks  for 
thee,  young  girl ! whom  having  overshadowed  with  His 
ineffable  passion  of  death,  suddenly  did  God  relent,  suffered 
thy  angel  to  turn  aside  His  arm,  and  even  in  thee,  sister 
unknown ! shown  to  me  for  a moment  only  to  be  hidden  for 
20  ever,  found  an  occasion  to  glorify  His  goodness.  A thousand 
times,  amongst  the  phantoms  of  sleep,  have  I seen  thee 
entering  the  gates  of  the  golden  dawn,  with  the  secret  word 
riding  before  thee,  with  the  armies  of  the  grave  behind 
thee,  — seen  thee  sinking,  rising,  raving,  despairing ; a thou- 
25  sand  times  in  the  worlds  of  sleep  have  seen  thee  followed  by 
God’s  angel  through  storms,  through  desert  seas,  through 
the  darkness  of  quicksands,  through  dreams  and  the  dreadful 
revelations  that  are  in  dreams ; only  that  at  the  last,  with  one 
sling  of  His  victorious  arm,  He  might  snatch  thee  back  from 
.30  ruin,  and  might  emblazon  in  thy  deliverance  the  endless 
resurrections  of  His  love ! 


AUTHOR'S  POSTSCRIPT0 


“The  English  Mail-Coach. ” — This  little  paper,  accord- 
ing to  my  original  intention,  formed  part  of  the  “Suspiria  de 
Profundis”0 ; from  which,  for  a momentary  purpose,  I did 
not  scruple  to  detach  it,  and  to  publish  it  apart,  as  sufficiently 
intelligible  even  when  dislocated  from  its  place  in  a larger  5 
whole.  To  my  surprise,  however,  one  or  two  critics,  not 
carelessly  in  conversation,  but  deliberately  in  print,  professed 
their  inability  to  apprehend  the  meaning  of  the  whole,  or 
to  follow  the  links  of  the  connexion  between  its  several  parts. 

I am  myself  as  little  able  to  understand  where  the  difficulty  10 
lies,  or  to  detect  any  lurking  obscurity,  as  these  critics  found 
themselves  to  unravel  my  logic.  Possibly  I may  not  be  an 
indifferent  and  neutral  judge’ in  such  a case.  I will  therefore 
sketch  a brief  abstract  of  the  little  paper  according  to  my 
original  design,  and  then  leave  the  reader  to  judge  how  far  15 
this  design  is  kept  in  sight  through  the  actual  execution. 

Thirty-seven  years  ago,°  or  rather  more,  accident  made  me, 
in  the  dead  of  night,  and  of  a night  memorably  solemn,  the 
solitary  witness  of  an  appalling  scene,  which  threatened  in- 
stant death  in  a shape  the  most  terrific  to  two  young  people  20 
whom  I had  no  means  of  assisting,  except  in  so  far  as  I was 
able  to  give  them  a most  hurried  warning  of  their  danger; 
but  even  that  not  until  they  stood  within  the  very  shadow  of 
the  catastrophe,  being  divided  from  the  most  frightful  of 
deaths  by  scarcely  more,  if  more  at  all,  than  seventy  seconds.  25 

Such  was  the  scene,  such  in  its  outline,  from  which  the 

95 


96  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


whole  of  this  paper  radiates  as  a natural  expansion.  This 
scene  is  circumstantially  narrated  in  Section  the  Second, 
entitled  “The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death.” 

But  a movement  of  horror,  and  of  spontaneous  recoil  from 
5 this  dreadful  scene,  naturally  carried  the  whole  of  that  scene, 
raised  and  idealised,  into  my  dreams,  and  very  soon  into  a 
rolling  succession  of  dreams.  The  actual  scene,  as  looked 
down  upon  from  the  box  of  the  mail,  was  transformed  into  a 
dream,  as  tumultuous  and  changing  as  a musical  fugue. 
10  This  troubled  dream  is  circumstantially  reported  in  Section 
the  Third,  entitled  ‘‘Dream-Fugue  on  the  theme  of  Sudden 
Death.”  What  I had  beheld  from  my  seat  upon  the  mail,  — 
the  scenical  strife  of  action  and  passion,  of  anguish  and  fear, 
as  I had  there  witnessed  them  moving  in  ghostly  silence,  — * 
15  this  duel  between  life  and  death  narrowing  itself  to  a point 
of  such  exquisite  evanescence  as  the  collision  neared:  all 
these  elements  of  the  scene  blended,  under  the  law  of  associa- 
tion, with  the  previous  and  permanent  features  of  distinction 
investing  the  mail  itself ; which  features  at  that  time  lay  — • 
20  1st,  in  velocity  unprecedented,  2dly,  in  the  power  and  beauty 
of  the  horses,  3dly,  in  the  official  connexion  with  the  govern- 
ment of  a great  nation,  and,  4thly,  in  the  function,  almost 
a consecrated  function,  of  publishing  and  diffusing  through 
the  land  the  great  political  events,  and  especially  the  great 
25  battles,  during  a conflict  of  unparalleled  grandeur.  These 
honorary  distinctions  are  all  described  circumstantially  in 
the  First  or  introductory  Section  (“The  Glory  of  Motion”). 
The  three  first  were  distinctions  maintained  at  all  times ; but 
the  fourth  and  grandest  belonged  exclusively  to  the  war  with 
30  Napoleon;  and  this  it  was  which  most  naturally  introduced 
Waterloo  into  the  dream.  Waterloo,  I understand,  was  the 
particular  feature  of  the  “Dream-Fugue”  which  my  censors 
were  least  able  to  account  for.  Yet  surely  Waterloo,  which, 


THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 


in  common  with  every  other  great  battle,  it  had  been  our 
special  privilege  to  publish  over  all  the  land,  most  naturally 
entered  the  dream  under  the  licence  of  our  privilege . If  not 
— if  there  be  anything  amiss  — let  the  Dream  be  responsible. 
The  Dream  is  a law  to  itself;  and  as  well  quarrel  with  aK 
rainbow  for  showing,  or  for  not  showing,  a secondary  arch. 

So  far  as  I know,  every  element  in  the  shifting  movements 
of  the  Dream  derived  itself  either  primarily  from  the  incidents 
of  the  actual  scene,  or  from  secondary  features  associated 
with  the  mail.  For  example,  the  cathedral  aisle  derived  10 
itself  from  the  mimic  combination  of  features  which  grouped 
themselves  together  at  the  point  of  approaching  collision  — 
viz.  an  arrow-like  section  of  the  road,  six  hundred  yards  long, 
under  the  solemn  lights  described,  with  lofty  trees  meeting 
overhead  in  arches.  The  guard's  horn,  again  — a humble  15 
instrument  in  itself  — was  yet  glorified  as  the  organ  of  pub- 
lication for  so  many  great  national  events.  And  the  incident 
of  the  Dying  Trumpeter,  who  rises  from  a marble  bas-relief, 
and  carries  a marble  trumpet  to  his  marble  lips  for  the  purpose 
of  warning  the  female  infant,  was  doubtless  secretly  suggested  2U 
by  my  own  imperfect  effort  to  seize  the  guard's  horn,  and  to 
blow  a warning  blast.  But  the  Dream  knows  best ; and  the 
Dream,  I say  again,  is  the  responsible  party. 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN° 


1.  — An  Extra  Nuisance  is  introduced  into  Spain. 

On  a night  in  the  year  1592°  (but  which  night  is  a secret 
liable  to  365  answers),  a Spanish  “ son  of  somebody”  ( i.e . 
hidalgo0),  in  the  fortified  town  of  St.  Sebastian,0  received  the 
disagreeable  intelligence  from  a nurse  that  his  wife  had  just 
5 presented  him  with  a daughter.  No  present  that  the  poor 
misjudging  lady  could  possibly  have  made  him  was  so  entirely 
useless  towards  any  purpose  of  his.  He  had  three  daughters 
already;  which  happened  to  be  more  by  2 + 1,  according  to 
his  reckoning,  than  any  reasonable  allowance  of  daughters. 
10  A supernumerary  son  might  have  been  stowed  away : but 
supernumerary  daughters  were  the  very  nuisance  of  Spain. 
He  did,  therefore,  what  in  such  cases  every  proud  and  lazy 
Spanish  gentleman  endeavoured  to  do.  And  surely  I need 
not  inteiTupt  myself  by  any  parenthesis  to  inform  the  base 
15  British  reader,  who  makes  it  his  glory  to  work  hard,  that 
the  peculiar  point  of  honour  for  the  Spanish  gentleman  lay 
in  precisely  these  two  qualities  of  pride  and  laziness;  for,  if 
he  were  not  proud,  or  had  anything  to  do,  what  could  you 
look  for  but  ruin  to  the  old  Spanish  aristocracy?  some  of 
20  whom  boasted  that  no  member  of  their  house  (unless  illegiti- 
mate, and  a mere  terroe  filius0)  had  done  a day’s  work  since 
the  Flood.0  In  the  ark  they  admitted  that  Noah  kept  them 
tightly  to  work;  because,  in  fact,  there  was  work  to  do  that 
must  be  done  by  somebody.  But,  once  anchored  upon 

*98 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


99 


Ararat,  they  insisted  upon  it  most  indignantly  that  no  an- 
cestor of  the  Spanish  noblesse0  had  ever  worked,  except 
through  his  slaves.  And  with  a view  to  new  leases  of  idle- 
ness, through  new  generations  of  slaves,  it  was  (as  many 
people  think)  that  Spain  went  so  heartily  into  the  enterprises  5 
of  Cortez  and  Pizarro.0  A sedentary  body  of  Dons,°  without 
needing  to  uncross  their  thrice-noble  legs,  would  thus  levy 
eternal  tributes  of  gold  and  silver  upon  eternal  mines,  through 
eternal  successions  of  nations  that  had  been,  and  were  to  be, 
enslaved.  Meantime,  until  these  golden  visions  should  be  10 
realised,  aristocratic  daughters , who  constituted  the  hereditary 
torment  of  the  true  Castilian0  Don,  were  to  be  disposed  of  in 
the  good  old  way,  viz.  by  quartering  them  for  life  upon  nun- 
neries : a plan  which  entailed  no  sacrifice  whatever  upon  any 
of  the  parties  concerned,  except,  indeed,  the  little  insignifi-  15 
cant  sacrifice  of  happiness  and  natural  birthrights  to  the 
daughters.  But  this  little  inevitable  wreck,  when  placed  in 
the  counter  scale  to  the  magnificent  purchase  of  eternal  idle- 
ness for  an  aristocracy  so  ancient,  was  surely  entitled  to  little 
attention  amongst  philosophers.  Daughters  must  perish  by  20 
generations,  and  ought  to  be  proud  of  perishing,  in  order 
that  their  papas,  being  hidalgos,  might  luxuriate  in  laziness. 
Accordingly,  on  this  system,  our  hidalgo  of  St.  Sebastian 
wrapped  the  new  little  daughter,  odious  to  his  paternal  eyes, 
in  a pocket-handkerchief,  and  then,  wrapping  up  his  own  25 
throat  with  a great  deal  more  care,  off  he  bolted  to  the  neigh- 
bouring convent  of  St.  Sebastian,  — meaning  by  that  term 
not  merely  a convent  of  that  city,  but  also  (amongst  several 
convents)  the  one  dedicated  to  that  saint.0  It  is  well  that 
in  this  quarrelsome  world  we  quarrel  furiously  about  tastes0 ; 30 
since,  agreeing  too  closely  about  the  objects  to  be  liked,  we 
should  agree  too  closely  about  the  objects  to  be  appropriated; 
which  would  breed  much  more  fighting  than  is  bred  by  dis- 


100  THE  ESSAYS  OF''  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


agreeing.  That  little  human  tadpole,  which  the  old  toad  o^ 
a father  would  not  suffer  to  stay  ten  minutes  in  his  house, 
proved  as  welcome  at  the  nunnery  of  St.  Sebastian  as  she 
was  odious  at  home.  The  lady  superior  of  the  convent  was 
5 aunt,  by  the  mother’s  side,  to  the  new-born  stranger.  She 
therefore  kissed  and  blessed  the  little  lady.  The  poor  nuns, 
who  were  never  to  have  any  babies  of  their  own,  and  were 
languishing  for  some  amusement,  perfectly  doated  on  this 
prospect  of  a wee  pet.  The  superior  thanked  the  hidalgo  for 
10  his  very  splendid  present.  The  nuns  thanked  him,  each  and 
all ; until  the  old  crocodile0  actually  began  to  whimper  senti- 
mentally at  what  he  now  perceived  to  be  excess  of  munifi- 
cence in  himself.  Munificence,  indeed,  he  remarked,  was 
his  foible,  next  after  parental  tenderness. 

2.  — Wait  a little,  Hidalgo  ! 

15  What  a luxury  it  is,  sometimes,  to  a cynic  that  there  go 
two  words  to  a bargain.0  In  the  convent  of  St.  Sebastian  all 
was  gratitude;  gratitude  (as  aforesaid)  to  the  hidalgo  from 
all  the  convent  for  his  present,  until  at  last  the  hidalgo  began 
to  express  gratitude  to  them  for  their  gratitude  to  him . Then 
20  came  a rolling  fire  of  thanks  to  St.  Sebastian : from  the 
superior,  for  sending  a future  saint ; from  the  nuns,  for  send- 
ing such  a love  of  a plaything;  and,  finalty,  from  papa,  for 
sending  such  substantial  board  and  well-bolted  lodgings : 
“from  which,”  said  the  malicious  old  fellow,  “my  pussy  will 
25  never  find  her  way  out  to  a thorny  and  dangerous  world.” 
Won’t  she  ? I suspect,  son  of  somebody,  that  the  next  time 
you  see  “pussy,”  which  may  happen  to  be  also  the  last,  will 
not  be  in  a convent  of  any  kind.  At  present,  whilst  this 
general  rendering  of  thanks  was  going  on,  one  person  only 
30 took  no  part  in  them.  That  person  was  “pussy,”  whose 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


101 


little  figure  lay  quietly  stretched  out  in  the  arms  of  a smiling 
young  nun,  with  eyes  nearly  shut,  yet  peering  a little  at  the 
candles.  Pussy  said  nothing.  It's  of  no  great  use  to  say 
much  when  all  the  world  is  against  you.  But,  if  St.  Sebas- 
tian had  enabled  her  to  speak  out  the  whole  truth,  pussy  5 
would  have  said:  “So,  Mr.  Hidalgo,  you  have  been  engaging 
lodgings  for  me,  lodgings  for  life.  Wait  a little.  Well  try 
that  question  when  my  claws  are  grown  a little  longer.  ” 

3.  — Symptoms  of  Mutiny. 

Disappointment,  therefore,  was  gathering  ahead.  But  for 
the  present  there  was  nothing  of  the  kind.  That  noble  old  10 
crocodile,  papa,  was  not  in  the  least  disappointed  as  regarded 
his  expectation  of  having  no  anxiety  to  waste,  and  no  money 
to  pay,  on  account  of  his  youngest  daughter.  He  insisted 
on  his  right  to  forget  her;  and  in  a week  had  forgotten  her, 
never  to  think  of  her  again,  but  once.  The  lady  superior,  as  15 
regarded  her  demands,  was  equally  content,  and  through  a 
course  of  several  years;  for,  as  often  as  she  asked  pussy  if 
she  would  be  a saint,  pussy  replied  that  she  would  if  saints 
were  allowed  plenty  of  sweetmeats.  But  least  of  all  were 
the  nuns  disappointed.  Everything  that  they  had  fancied  20 
possible  in  a human  plaything  fell  short  of  what  pussy  realised 
in  racketing,  racing,  and  eternal  plots  against  the  peace  of 
the  elder  nuns.  No  fox  ever  kept  a hen-roost  in  such  alarm 
as  pussy  kept  the  dormitory  of  the  senior  sisters ; whilst  the 
younger  ladies  were  run  off  their  legs  by  the  eternal  wiles,  25 
and  had  their  gravity  discomposed,  even  in  chapel,  by  the 
eternal  antics,  of  this  privileged  little  kitten. 

The  kitten  had  long  ago  received  a baptismal  name,  — 
which  was  Kitty,  or  Kate;  and  that  in  Spanish  is  Catalina. 

It  was  a good  name,  as  it  recalled  her  original  name  of  30 


102  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


“pussy.”  And,  by  the  way,  she  had  also  an  ancient  and 
honourable  surname  — viz.  De  Erciuso;  which  is  to  this 
dav°  a name  rooted  in  Biscay.0  Her  father,  the  hidalgo, 
was  a military  officer  in  the  Spanish  service,  and  had  little 
5 care  whether  his  kitten  should  turn  out  a wolf  or  a lamb, 
having  made  over  the  fee-simple0  of  his  own  interest  in  the 
little  Kate  to  St.  Sebastian,  “to  have  and  to  hold,”0  so  long 
as  Kate  should  keep  her  hold  of  this  present  life.  Kate  had 
no  apparent  intention  to  let  slip  that  hold ; for  she  was  bloom- 
10  ing  as  a rose-bush  in  June,0  tall  and  strong  as  a young  cedar. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  this  robust  health,  which  forbade  one 
to  think  of  separation  from  St.  Sebastian  by  death,  and  not- 
withstanding the  strength  of  the  convent  walls,  which  forbade 
one  to  think  of  any  other  separation,  the  time  was  drawing 
15  near  when  St.  Sebastian’s  lease  in  Kate  must,  in  legal  phrase, 
“determine,”0  and  any  chateaux  en  Espagne0  that  the  saint 
might  have  built  on  the  cloistral  fidelity  of  his  pet  Catalina 
must  suddenly  give  way  in  one  hour,  like  many  other  vanities 
in  our  own  days  of  Spanish  growth,  such  as  Spanish  consti- 
20  tutions  and  charters,  Spanish  financial  reforms,  Spanish 
bonds,  and  other  little  varieties  of  Spanish  ostentatious 
mendacity.0 

4.  — The  Symptoms  Thicken. 

After  reaching  her  tenth  year,  Catalina  became  thoughtful 
and  not  very  docile.  At  times  she  was  even  headstrong  and 
25  turbulent,  so  that  the  gentle  sisterhood  of  St.  Sebastian,  who 
had  no  other  pet  or  plaything  in  the  world,  began  to  weep  in 
secret,  fearing  that  they  might  have  been  rearing  by  mistake 
some  future  tigress;  for,  as  to  infancy,  that , you  know,  is 
playful  and  innocent  even  in  the  cubs  of  a tigress.  But  there 
30  the  ladies  were  going  too  far.  Catalina  was  impetuous  and 
aspiring,  violent  sometimes,  headstrong  and  haughty  towards 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


103 


those  who  presumed  upon  her  youth,  absolutely  rebellious 
against  all  open  harshness,  but  still  generous  and  most  for- 
giving, disdainful  of  petty  arts,  and  emphatically  a noble 
girl.  She  was  gentle,  if  people  would  let  her  be  so.  But  woe 
to  those  who  took  liberties  with  her ! A female  servant  of  5 
the  convent,  in  some  authority,  one  day,  in  passing  up  the 
aisle  to  matins,  wilfully  gave  Kate  a push;  and,  in  return, 
Kate,  who  never  left  her  debts  in  arrear,  gave  the  servant  for 
a keepsake  such  a look  as  that  servant  carried  with  her  in 
fearful  remembrance  to  her  grave.  It  seemed  as  if  Kate  had  1C 
tropic  blood  in  her  veins  that  continuallv  called  her  awav  to 
the  tropics.  It  was  ail  the  fault  of  that  “ blue  rejoicing  sky/;o 
of  those  purple  Biscayan  mountains,0  of 'that  glad  tumultuous 
ocean,0  which  she  beheld  daily  from  the  nunnery  gardens. 
Or,  if  only  half  of  it  was  their  fault,  the  other  half  lay  in  those  15 
golden  tales,0  streaming  upwards  even  into  the  sanctuaries 
of  convents,  like  morning  mists  touched  by  earliest  sunlight, 
of  kingdoms  overshadowing  a new  world  which  had  been 
founded  by  her  kinsmen  with  the  simple  aid  of  a horse  and  a 
lance.  The  reader  is  to  remember  that  this  is  no  romance,  20 
or  at  least  no  fiction,0  that  he  is  reading;  and  it  is  proper  to 
remind  the  reader  of  real  romances  in  Ariosto  or  our  own 
Spenser  that  such  martial  ladies  as  the  Marfisa  or  Bradamant 
of  the  first,  and  Britomart  of  the  other,  were  really  not  the 
improbabilities  that  modern  society  imagines.0  Many  a 25 
stout  man,  as  you  will  soon  see,  found  that  Kate,  with  a sabre 
in  hand,  and  well  mounted,  was  no  romance  at  all,  but  far 
too  serious  a fact. 

5.  — Good-night,  St.  Sebastian! 

The  day  is  come  — the  evening  is  come°  — when  our  poor 
Kate,  that  had  for  fifteen  years  been  so  tenderly  rocked  in  30 


104  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE  Y 


the  arms  of  St.  Sebastian  and  his  daughters,  and  that  hence- 
forth shall  hardly  find  a breathing  space  between  eternal 
storms,  must  see  her  peaceful  cell,  must  see  the  holy  chapel, 
for  the  last  time.  It  was  at  vespers,0  it  was  during  the  chant- 
5 ing  of  the  vesper  service,  that  she  finally  read  the  secret  signal 
for  her  departure,  which  long  she  had  been  looking  for.  It 
happened  that  her  aunt,  the  Lady  Principal,  had  forgotten 
her  breviary.  As  this  was  in  a private  scrutoire,0  the  prudent 
lady  did  not  choose  to  send  a servant  for  it,  but  gave  the  key 
10  to  her  niece.  The  niece,  on  opening  the  scrutoire,  saw,  with 
that  rapidity  of  eye-glance  for  the  one  thing  needed  in  great 
emergencies  which  ever  attended  her  through  life,  that  now 
was  the  moment,  now  had  the  clock  struck  for  an  opportunity 
which,  if  neglected,  might  never  return.  There  lay  the  total0 
15  keys,  in  one  massive  trousseau ,°  of  that  monastic  fortress, 
impregnable  even  to  armies  from  without.  St.  Sebastian ! 
do  you  see  what  your  pet  is  going  to  do  ? And  do  it  she  will, 
as  sure  as  your  name  is  St.  Sebastian.  Kate  went  back  to 
her  aunt  with  the  breviary  and  the  key,  but  taking  good  care 
20  to  leave  that  awful  door,°  on  whose  hinge  revolved  all  her 
future  life,  unlocked.  Delivering  the  two  articles  to  the 
superior,  she  complained  of  headache  — (ah,  Kate ! what 
did  you  know  of  headaches  ?)  — upon  which  her  aunt,  kissing 
her  forehead,  dismissed  her  to  bed.  Now,  then,  through 
25  three-fourths  of  an  hour  Kate  will  have  free  elbow-room  for 
unanchoring  her  boat,  for  unshipping  her  oars,  and  for  pulling 
ahead  right  out  of  St.  Sebastian's  cove  into  the  main  ocean  of 
life. 

Catalina,  the  reader  is  to  understand,  does  not  belong  to 
30  the  class  of  persons  in  whom  pre-eminently  I profess  an  inter- 
est.0 But  everywhere  one  loves  energy  and  indomitable 
courage.  And  always  what  is  best  in  its  kind  one  admires, 
even  where  the  kind  may  happen  to  be  not  specially  attrac- 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


105 


tive.  Kate’s  advantages  for  her  role  in  this  life  lay  in  four 
things : viz.  in  a well-built  person  and  a particularly  strong 
wrist ; 2d,  in  a heart  that  nothing  could  appal ; 3d,  in  a saga- 
cious head,  never  drawn  aside  from  the  hoc  age°  (from  the 
instant  question  of  the  hour)  by  any  weakness  of  imagina-5 
tion ; 4th,  in  a tolerably  thick  skin,  — not  literally,  for  she 
was  fair  and  blooming  and  eminently  handsome,  having  such 
a skin,  in  fact,  as  became  a young  woman  of  family  in  north- 
ernmost Spain;  but  her  sensibilities  were  obtuse  as  regarded 
some  modes  of  delicacy,  some  modes  of  equity,  some  modes  of  10 
the  world’s  opinion,  and  all  modes  whatever  of  personal  hard- 
ship. Lay  a stress  on  that  word  some  — for,  as  to  delicacy, 
she  never  lost  sight  of  that  kind  which  peculiarly  concerns 
her  sex.  Long  afterwards  she  told  the  Pope  himself,0  when 
confessing  without  disguise  to  the  paternal  old  man  her  sad  15 
and  infinite  wanderings  (and  I feel  convinced  of  her  veracity), 
that  in  this  respect  — viz.  all  which  concerned  her  sexual 
honour  — even  then  she  was  as  pure  as  a child.  And,  as  to 
equity,  it  was  only  that  she  substituted  the  rude  natural 
equity  of  camps  for  the  specious  and  conventional  equity  20 
of  courts  and  towns.  I must  add,  though  at  the  cost  of  inter- 
rupting the  story  by  two  or  three  more  sentences,  that  Cata- 
lina had  also  a fifth  advantage,  which  sounds  humbly,  but  is 
reallv  of  use  in  a world  where  even  to  fold  and  seal  a letter 
adroitly  is  not  the  lowest  of  accomplishments.  She  was  a 25 
handy  girl.  She  could  turn  her  hand  to  anything ; of  which 
I will  give  you  two  memorable  instances.  Was  there  ever 
a girl  in  this  world  but  herself  that  cheated  and  snapped  her 
fingers  at  that  awful  Inquisition  which  brooded  over  the  con- 
vents of  Spain0  ? that  did  this  without  collusion  from  outside ; 3a 
trusting  to  nobody  but  to  herself,  and  what  beside  ? to  one 
needle,  two  skeins  of  thread,  and  a bad  pair  of  scissors  ! For 
that  the  scissors  were  bad,  though  Kate  does  not  say  so  in 


106  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


her  memoirs,  I know  by  an  a priori0  argument : viz.  becaust 
all  scissors  were  bad  in  the  year  1607.°  Now,  say  all  decent 
logicians,  from  a universal  to  a particular  valet  consequential 
the  right  of  inference  is  good.  All  scissors  were  bad,  ergc° 
5 some  scissors  were  bad.  The  second  instance  of  her  handi- 
ness will  surprise  you  even  more : — She  once  stood  upon  a 
scaffold,  under  sentence  of  death  (but,  understand,  on  the 
evidence  of  false  witnesses).  Jack  Ketch0  — or,  as  the 
present  generation  calls  him,  “Mr.  Calcraft,”0  or  “ Cal- 

mer aft,  Esq.”  — was  absolutely  tying  the  knot  under  her  ear, 
and  the  shameful  man  of  ropes  fumbled  so  deplorably,  that 
Kate  (who  by  much  nautical  experience  had  learned  from 
another  sort  of  “Jack”0  how  a knot  should  be  tied  in  this 
world)  lost  all  patience  with  the  contemptible  artist,  told 
15  him  she  was  ashamed  of  him,  took  the  rope  out  of  his  hand, 
and  tied  the  knot  irreproachably  herself.  The  crowd  saluted 
her  with  a festal  roll,  long  and  loud,  of  vivas;  and,  this  word 
viva  being  a word  of  good  augury0  — But  stop ; let  me  not 
anticipate. 

20  From  this  sketch  of  Catalina's  character  the  reader  is  pre- 
pared to  understand  the  decision  of  her  present  proceeding. 
She  had  no  time  to  lose  : the  twilight,  it  is  true,  favoured  her ; 
but  in  any  season  twilight  is  as  short-lived  as  a farthing  rush- 
light0;  and  she  must  get  under  hiding  before  pursuit  com- 
25  menced.  Consequently  she  lost  not  one  of  her  forty-five 
minutes  in  picking  and  choosing.  No  shilly-shally0  in  Kate. 
She  saw  with  the  eyeball  of  an  eagle  what  was  indispensable. 
Some  little  money  perhaps,  in  the  first  place,  to  pay  the  first 
toll-bar0  of  life : so,  out  of  four  shillings  in  aunty's  purse, 
30  or  what  amounted  to  that  English  sum  in  various  Spanish 
coins,  she  took  one.  You  can’t  say  that  was  exorbitant. 
Which  of  us  wouldn't  subscribe  a shilling  for  poor  Kate, 
to  put  into  the  first  trouser-pockets  that  ever  she  will  wear  ? 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


107 


I remember  even  yet,  as  a personal  experience,  that,  when 
first  arrayed,  at  four  years  old,  in  nankeen  trousers,  though 
still  so  far  retaining  hermaphrodite  relations  of  dress  as  to 
wear  a petticoat  above  my  trousers,  all  my  female  friends 
(because  they  pitied  me,  as  one  that  had  suffered  from  years  5 
of  ague0)  filled  my  pockets  with  half-crowns,  of  which  I can 
render  no  account  at  this  day.  But  what  were  my  poor  pre- 
tensions by  the  side  of  Kate’s?  Kate  was  a fine  blooming 
girl  of  fifteen,  with  no  touch  of  ague;  and,  before  the  next 
sun  rises,  Kate  shall  draw  on  her  first  trousers,  made  by  her  1G 
own  hand;  and,  that  she  may  do  so,  of  all  the  valuables  in 
aunty’s  repository  she  takes  nothing  beside,  first  (for  I detest 
your  ridiculous  and  most  pedantic  neologism  of  firstly0)  — 
first,  the  shilling,  for  which  I have  already  given  a receipt,  — 
secondly,  two  skeins  of  suitable  thread,  — thirdly,  one  stout  15 
needle,  and  (as  1 told  you  before,  if  you  would  please  to  re- 
member things)  one  bad  pair  of  scissors.  Now  she  was  ready ; 
ready  to  cast  off  St.  Sebastian’s  towing-rope;  ready  to  cut 
and  run°  for  port  anywhere ; which  port  (according  to  a smart 
American  adage)  is  to  be  looked  for  “at  the  back  of  beyond.”0  20 
The  finishing  touch  of  her  preparations  was  to  pick  out  the 
proper  keys:  even  there  she  showed  the  same  discretion. 
She  did  no  gratuitous  mischief.  She  did  not  take  the  wine- 
cellar  key,  which  would  have  irritated  the  good  father-con- 
fessor ; she  did  not  take  the  key  of  the  closet  which  held  the  25 
peppermint-water  and  other  cordials,  for  that  would  have 
distressed  the  elderly  nuns.  She  took  those  keys  only  that 
belonged  to  her , if  ever  keys  did ; for  they  were  the  keys  that 
locked  her  out  from  her  natural  birthright  of  liberty.  Very 
different  views  are  taken  by  different  parties  of  this  particu-  30 
lar  act  now  meditated  by  Kate.  The  Court  of  Rome  treats 
it  as  the  immediate  suggestion  of  Hell,  and  open  to  no  for- 
giveness. Another  Court,  far  loftier,  ampler,  and  of  larger 


108  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


authority  — viz.  the  Court  which  holds  its  dreadful  tribunal 
in  the  human  heart  and  conscience  — pronounces  this  act 
an  inalienable  privilege  of  man,  and  the  mere  reassertion  of 
a birthright  that  can  neither  be  bought  nor  sold.0 

6.  — Kate's  First  Bivouac  and  First  March. 

5 Right  or  wrong,  however,  in  Romish  casuistry,  Kate  was 
resolved  to  let  herself  out;  and  did;  and,  for  fear  any  man 
should  creep  in  while  vespers  lasted,  and  steal  the  kitchen 
grate,  she  locked  her  old  friends  in.  Then  she  sought  a 
shelter.  The  air  was  moderately  warm.  She  hurried  into 
10  a chestnut  wood ; and  upon  withered  leaves,  which  furnished 
to  Kate  her  very  first  bivouac  in  a long  succession  of  such 
experiences,  she  slept  till  earliest  dawn.  Spanish  diet  and 
youth  leave  the  digestion  undisordered,  and  the  slumbers 
light.  When  the  lark  rose,  up  rose  Catalina.  No  time  to 
15  lose ; for  she  was  still  in  the  dress  of  a nun,  and  therefore, 
by  a law  too  flagrantly  notorious,  liable  to  the  peremptory 
challenge  and  arrest  of  any  man  — the  very  meanest  or 
poorest  — in  all  Spain.  With  her  armed  finger  (ay,  by  the 
way,  I forgot  the  thimble;  but  Kate  did  not°),  she  set  to 
20  work  upon  her  amply-embroidered  petticoat.  She  turned  it 
wrong  side  out ; and,  with  the  magic  that  only  female  hands 
possess,  had  she  soon  sketched0  and  finished  a dashing 
pair  of  Wellington  trousers.0  All  other  changes0  were  made 
according  to  the  materials  she  possessed,  and  quite  sufficiently 
25  to  disguise  the  two  main  perils  — her  sex,  and  her  monastic 
dedication.  What  was  she  to  do  next?  Speaking  of 
Wellington  trousers  anywhere  in  the  north  of  Spain  would 
remind  us,  but  could  hardly  remind  her,  of  Vittoria,0  where 
she  dimly  had  heard  of  some  maternal  relative.  To  Vittoria, 
30  therefore,  she  bent  her  course ; and,  like  the  Duke  of  Wei- 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


109 


lington,  but  arriving  more  than  two  centuries  earlier,  she 
gained  a great  victory  at  that  place.  She  had  made  a two 
days'  march.,  with  no  provisions  but  wild  berries ; she 
depended,  for  anything  better,  as  light-heartedly  as  the 
duke,  upon  attacking  sword  in  hand,  storming  her  dears 
friend's  intrenchments,  and  effecting  a lodgment  in  his 
breakfast-room,  should  he  happen  to  possess  one.  This 
amiable  relative0  proved  to  be  an  elderly  man,  who  had  but 
one  foible,  — or  perhaps  it  was  a virtue,  — which  had  by  con- 
tinual development  overshadowed  his  whole  nature : it  was  1G 
pedantry.  On  that  hint  Catalina  spoke : she  knew  by 

heart,  from  the  services  of  the  convent,  a good  number  of 
Latin  phrases.  Latin!  — Oh,  but  that  was  charming;  and 
in  one  so  young ! The  grave  Don  owned  the  soft  impeach- 
ment0; relented  at  once,  and  clasped  the  hopeful  young  15 
gentleman  in  the  Wellington  trousers  to  his  uncular0  and 
rather  angular  breast.  In  this  house  the  yarn  of  life  was  of 
a mingled  quality.0  The  table  was  good,  but  that  was 
exactly  what  Kate  cared  least  about.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  amusement  was  of  the  worst  kind.  It  consisted  chiefly  20 
in  conjugating  Latin  verbs,  especially  such  as  were  obsti- 
nately irregular.  To  show  him  a withered  frost-bitten  verb, 
that  wanted  its  preterite,  wanted  its  gerunds,  wanted  its 
supines,  — wanted,  in  fact,  everything  in  this  world,  fruits  or 
blossoms,  that  make  a verb  desirable, — was  to  earn  the  Don's  25 
gratitude  for  life.  All  day  long  he  was,  as  you  may  say, 
marching  and  counter-marching  his  favourite  brigades  of 
verbs — verbs  frequentative,  verbs  inceptive,  verbs  desidera- 
tive — horse,  foot,  and  artillery;  changing  front,  advancing 
from  the  rear,  throwing  out  skirmishing  parties ; until  Kate,  3G 
not  given  to  faint,  must  have  thought  of  such  a resource,  — as 
once  in  her  life  she  had  thought  so  seasonably  of  a vesper 
headache.  This  was  really  worse  than  St.  Sebastian's.  It 


110  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 

reminds  one  of  a French  gaiety  in  Thiebault0;  who  describes* 
a rustic  party,  under  equal  despair,  as  employing  themselves 
in  conjugating  the  verb  s’ennuyer0 — Je  m’ennuie , tu  Vennuies , 
il  s’ennuit;  nous  nous  ennuyons , &c. ; thence  to  the  imperfect 
1 3 — Je  m’ennuyois,  tu  t’ennuyois , &c. ; thence  to  the  imperative 
— Qu’il  s’ennuye , &c. ; and  so  on,  through  the  whole  dolorous 
conjugation.  Now,  you  know,  when  the  time  comes  that 
nous  nous  ennuyons,0  the  best  course  is  to  part.  Kate  saw 
that ; and  she  walked  off  from  the  Don’s  (of  whose  amorous 
10  passion  for  defective  verbs  one  would  have  wished  to  know 
the  catastrophe),  taking  from  his  mantelpiece  rather  more 
silver  than  she  had  levied  on  her  aunt.  But  then,  observe, 
the  Don  also  was  a relative ; and  really  he  owed  her  a small 
cheque  on  his  banker  for  turning  out  on  his  field-days.  A 
35  man  if  he  is  a kinsman,  has  no  unlimited  privilege  of  boring 
one ; an  uncle  has  a qualified  right  to  bore  his  nephews,  even 
when  they  happen  to  be  nieces;  but  he  has  no  right  to  bore 
either  nephew  or  niece  gratis. 

7.  — Kate  at  Court,  where  she  prescribes  Phlebot- 
omy, and  is  Promoted. 

From  Vittoria,  Kate  was  guided  by  a carrier  to  Valla- 
20dolid.°  Luckily,  as  it  seemed  at  first,  — but,  in  fact,  it  made 
little  difference  in  the  end,  — here,  at  Valladolid,  were  as- 
sembled the  King0  and  his  Court.  Consequently,  there 
was  plenty  of  regiments,  and  plenty  of  regimental  bands. 
Attracted  by  one  of  these,  Catalina  was  quietly  listening  to 
>5  the  music,  when  some  street  ruffians,  in  derision  of  the  gay 
colours  and  the  particular  form  of  her  forest-made  costume0 
(rascals  ! what  sort  of  trousers  would  they  have  made  with  no 
better  scissors?),  began  to  pelt  her  with  stones.  Ah,  my 
friends  of  the  genus  blackguard , you  little  know  who  it  is 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


111 


that  you  are  selecting  for  experiments ! This  is  the  one 
creature  of  fifteen  years  old  in  all  Spain,  be  the  other  male 
or  female,  whom  nature,  and  temper,  and  provocation  have 
qualified  for  taking  the  conceit  out  of  you  ! This  she  very 
soon  did,  laying  open  with  sharp  stones  more  heads  than  5 
either  one  or  two,  and  letting  out  rather  too  little  than  too 
much  of  bad  Valladolid  blood.  But  mark  the  constant 
villainy  of  this  world  ! Certain  Alguazils0  — very  like  some 
other  Alguazils  that  I know  of  nearer  home  — having  stood  by 
quietly  to  see  the  friendless  stranger  insulted  and  assaulted,  1G 
now  felt  it  their  duty  to  apprehend  the  poor  nun  for  her 
most  natural  retaliation;  and,  had  there  been  such  a thing 
as  a treadmill0  in  Valladolid,  Kate  was  booked  for  a place  on 
it  without  further  inquiry.  Luckily,  injustice  does  not 
always  prosper.  A gallant  young  cavalier,  who  had  wit- 15 
nessed  from  his  windows  the  whole  affair,  had  seen  the  prov- 
ocation, and  admired  Catalina’s  behaviour,  equally  patient 
at  first  and  bold  at  last,  hastened  into  the  street,  pursued  the 
officers,  forced  them  to  release  their  prisoner  upon  stating  the 
circumstances  of  the  case,  and  instantly  offered  to  Catalina  a 20 
situation  amongst  his  retinue.  He  was  a man  of  birth  and 
fortune ; and  the  place  offered,  that  of  an  honorary  page,  not 
being  at  all  degrading  even  to  a “ daughter  of  somebody,”0 
was  cheerfully  accepted. 

8.  — Too  Good  to  Last  5 

Here  Catalina  spent  a happy  quarter  of  a year.  She  was  25 
now  splendidly  dressed  in  dark  blue  velvet,  by  a tailor  that 
did  not  work  within  the  gloom  of  a chestnut  forest.  She 
and  the  young  cavalier,  Don  Francisco  de  Cardenas,0  were 
mutually  pleased,  and  had  mutual  confidence.  All  went 
well,  until  one  evening  (but,  luckily,  not  before  the  sun  had  30 


112  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y 


been  set  so  long  as  to  make  all  things  indistinct)  who  should 
march  into  the  antechamber  of  the  cavalier  but  that  sublime 
of  crocodiles,0  papa , whom  we  lost  sight  of  fifteen  years  ago, 
and  shall  never  see  again  after  this  night.  He  had  his 
5 crocodile  tears  all  ready  for  use,  in  working  order,  like  a 
good  industrious  fire-engine.  Whom  will  he  speak  to  first 
in  this  lordly  mansion?  It  was  absolutely  to  Catalina  her- 
self that  he  advanced;  whom,  for  many  reasons,  he  could 
not  be  supposed  to  recognise  — lapse  of  years,  male  attire, 
10  twilight,  were  all  against  him.  Still,  she  might  have  the 
family  countenance;  and  Kate  fancied  (but  it  must  have 
been  a fancy)  that  he  looked  with  a suspicious  scrutiny  into 
her  face,  as  he  inquired  cor  the  young  Don.  To  avert  her 
awn  face,  to  announce  him  to  Don  Francisco,  to  wish  papa 
15  on  the  shores  of  that  ancient  river,  the  Nile,  furnished  but 
one  moment’s  work  to  the  active  Catalina.  She  lingered, 
however,  as  her  place  entitled  her  to  do,  at  the  door  of  the 
audience-chamber.  She  guessed  already,  but  in  a moment 
she  heard  from  papa’s  lips,  what  was  the  nature  of  his  errand. 
20  His  daughter  Catherine,  he  informed  the  Don,  had  eloped 
from  the  convent  of  St.  Sebastian,  a place  rich  in  delight, 
radiant  with  festal  pleasure,  overflowing  with  luxury. 
Then  he  laid  open  the  unparalleled  ingratitude  of  such  a 
step.  Oh,  the  unseen  treasure  that  had  been  spent  upon 
25  that  girl ! Oh,  the  untold  sums  of  money,  the  unknown 
amounts  of  cash,  that  had  been  sunk  in  that  unhappy 
speculation ! The  nights  of  sleeplessness  suffered  during 
her  infancy ! The  fifteen  years  of  solicitude  thrown  away 
in  schemes  for  her  improvement ! It  would  have  moved 
30  the  heart  of  a stone.  The  hidalgo  wept  copiously  at  his 
own  pathos.  And  to  such  a height  of  grandeur  had  he 
carried  his  Spanish  sense  of  the  sublime  that  he  disdained 
to  mention  — yes ! positively  not  even  in  a parenthesis 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


113 


would  he  condescend  to  notice  — that  pocket-handkerchief 
which  he  had  left  at  St.  Sebastian’s  fifteen  years  ago,  by 
way  of  envelope  for  “pussy,”  and  which,  to  the  best  of 
pussy’s  knowledge,  was  the  one  sole  memorandum  of  papa 
ever  heard  of  at  St.  Sebastian’s.  Pussy,  however,  saw  no  5 
use  in  revising  and  correcting  the  text  of  papa’s  remem- 
brances. She  showed  her  usual  prudence,  and  her  usual 
incomparable  decision.  It  did  not  appear,  as  yet,  that 
she  would  be  reclaimed  (or  was  at  all  suspected  for  the 
fugitive)  by  her  father,  or  by  Don  Cardenas.  For  it  is  an  10 
instance  of  that  singular  fatality  which  pursued  Catalina 
through  life  that,  to  her  own  astonishment  (as  she  now 
collected  from  her  father’s  conference),  nobody  had  traced 
her  to  Valladolid,  nor  had  her  father’s  visit  any  connexion 
with  any  suspicious  traveller  in  that  direction.  The  case  15 
was  quite  different.  Strangely  enough,  her  street  row  had 
thrown  her,  by  the  purest  of  accidents,  into  the  one  sole 
household  in  all  Spain  that  had  an  official  connexion  with 
St.  Sebastian’s.  That  convent  had  been  founded  by  the 
young  cavalier’s  family;  and,  according  to  the  usage  of 20 
Spain,  the  young  man  (as  present  representative  of  his 
house)  was  the  responsible  protector  and  official  visitor  of 
the  establishment.  It  was  not  to  the  Don  as  harbourer  of 
his  daughter,  but  to  the  Don  as  hereditary  patron  of  the 
convent,  that  the  hidalgo  was  appealing.  This  being  so,  25 
Kate  might  have  staid  safely  some  time  longer.  Yet,  again, 
that  would  but  have  multiplied  the  clues  for  tracing  her; 
and,  finally,  she  would  too  probably  have  been  discovered ; 
after  which,  with  all  his  youthful  generosity,  the  poor  Don 
could  not  have  protected  her.  Too  terrific  was  the  ven-30 
geance  that  awaited  an  abettor  of  any  fugitive  nun;  but, 
above  all,  if  such  a crime  were  perpetrated  by  an  official 
mandatory0  of  the  Church.  Yet,  again,  so  far  it  was  the 

i 


114  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


more  hazardous  course  to  abscond  that  it  almost  revealed 
her  to  the  young  Don  as  the  missing  daughter.  Still,  if  it 
really  had  that  effect,  nothing  at  present  obliged  him  to 
pursue  her,  as  might  have  been  the  case  a few  weeks  later. 

5 Kate  argued  (I  daresay)  rightly,  as  she  always  did.  Her 
prudence  whispered  eternally  that  safety  there  was  none  for 
her  until  she  had  laid  the  Atlantic  between  herself  and  St. 
Sebastian's.  Life  was  to  be  for  her  a Bay  of  Biscay;  and  it 
was  odds  but  she  had  first  embarked  upon  this  billowy  life 
10  from  the  literal  Bay  of  Biscay.0  Chance  ordered  otherwise. 
Or,  as  a Frenchman0  says,  with  eloquent  ingenuity,  in  con- 
nexion with  this  very  story,  “ Chance  is  but  the  'pseudonym 
of  God  for  those  particular  cases  which  he  does  not  choose  to 
subscribe  openly  with  his  own  sign-manual.  ”°  She  crept 
15  upstairs  to  her  bedroom.  Simple  are  the  travelling  prepara- 
tions of  those  that,  possessing  nothing,  have  no  imperials0  to 
pack.  She  had  Juvenal's  qualification  for  carolling  gaily 
through  a forest  full  of  robbers0 ; for  she  had  nothing  to  lose 
but  a change  of  linen,  that  rode  easily  enough  under  her  left 
20  arm,  leaving  the  right  free  for  answering  the  questions  of 
impertinent  customers.  As  she  crept  downstairs,  she  heard 
the  crocodile  still  weeping  forth  his  sorrows  to  the  pensive 
ear  of  twilight,  and  to  the  sympathetic  Don  Francisco. 
Ah  ! what  a beautiful  idea  occurs  to  me  at  this  point ! Once, 
25  on  the  hustings  at  Liverpool,  I saw  a mob  orator,  whose 
brawling  mouth,  open  to  its  widest  expansion,  suddenly  some 
larking  sailor,  by  the  most  dexterous  of  shots,  plugged  up 
with  a paving-stone.  Here,  now,  at  Valladolid  was  another 
mouth  that  equally  required  plugging.  What  a pity,  then, 
30  that  some  gav  brother-page  of  Kate's  had  not  been  there  to 
turn  aside  into  the  room  armed  with  a roasted  potato,  and, 
taking  a sportsman's  aim,  to  have  lodged  it  in  the  crocodile's 
abominable  mouth ! Yet,  what  an  anachronism ! There 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


115 


were  no  roasted  potatoes  in  Spain  at  that  date  (1608) ; 
which  can  be  apodeictically0  proved,  because  in  Spain  there 
were  no  potatoes  at  all,  and  very  few  in  England.0  But 
anger  drives  a man  to  say  anything. 

9.  — How  to  choose  Lodgings. 

Catalina  had  seen  her  last  of  friends  and  enemies  in 
Valladolid.  Short  was  her  time  there ; but  she  had  improved 
it  so  far  as  to  make  a few  of  both.  There  was  an  eye  or  two 
in  Valladolid  that  would  have  glared  with  malice  upon  her, 
had  she  been  seen  by  all  e}res  in  that  city  as  she  tripped 
through  the  streets  in  the  dusk;  and  eyes  there  wore  that 
would  have  softened  into  tears,  had  they  seen  the  desolate 
condition  of  the  child,  or  in  vision  had  seen  the  struggles 
that  were  before  her.  But  what’s  the  use  of  wasting  tears 
upon  our  Kate?  Wait  till  to-morrow  morning  at  sunrise, 
and  see  if  she  is  particularly  in  need  of  pity.  What,  now, 
should  a young  lady  do  — I propose  it  as  a subject  for  a prize 
essay — that  finds  herself  in  Valladolid  at  nightfall,  having  no 
letters  of  introduction,  and  not  aware  of  any  reason,  great  or 
small,  for  preferring  this  or  that  street  in  general,  except  so 
far  as  she  knows  of  some  reason  for  avoiding  one  street  in 
particular?  The  great  problem  I have  stated  Kate  investi- 
gated as  she  went  along ; and  she  solved  it  with  the  accuracy 
which  she  ever  applied  to  practical  exigencies.  Her  con- 
clusion was  — that  the  best  door  to  knock  at,  in  such  a 
case,  was  the  door  where  there  was  no  need  to  knock  at  all, 
as  being  deliberately  left  open  to  all  comers.  For  she 
argued  that  within  such  a door  there  would  be  nothing  to 
steal,  so  that,  at  least,  you  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the 
dark  for  a thief.  Then,  as  to  stealing  from  her , they  might 
do  that  if  they  could. 


5 

10 

15 

20 

25 

30 


116  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


Upon  these  principles,  which  hostile  critics  will  in  vain 
endeavour  to  undermine,  she  laid  her  hand  upon  what  seemed 
a rude  stable-door.  Such  it  proved ; and  the  stable  was  not 
absolutely  empty : for  there  was  a cart  inside  — a four- 
5 wheeled  cart.  True,  there  was  so ; but  you  couldn't  take 
that  away  in  your  pocket;  and  there  were  also  five  loads  of 
straw — but  then  of  those  a lady  could  take  no  more  than  her 
reticule  would  carry;  which  perhaps  was  allowed  by  the 
courtesy  of  Spain.  So  Kate  was  right  as  to  the  difficulty  of 
10  being  challenged  for  a thief.  Closing  the  door  as  gently  as 
she  had  opened  it,  she  dropped  her  person,  handsomely 
dressed  as  she  was,  upon  the  nearest  heap  of  straw.  Some 
ten  feet  further  were  lying  two  muleteers,  honest  and  happy 
enough,  as  compared  with  the  lords  of  the  bedchamber0 
15 then  in  Valladolid;  but  still  gross  men,  carnally  deaf  from 
eating  garlic  and  onions  and  other  horrible  substances. 
Accordingly,  they  never  heard  her,  nor  were  aware,  until 
dawn,  that  such  a blooming  person  existed.  But  she  was 
aware  of  them , and  of  their  conversation.  In  the  intervals  of 
20  their  sleep,  they  talked  much  of  an  expedition  to  America,  on 
the  point  of  sailing  under  Don  Ferdinand  de  Cordova.0  It 
was  to  sail  from  some  Andalusian0  port.  That  was  the 
thing  for  her.  At  daylight  she  woke,  and  jumped  up,  needing 
little  more  toilet  than  the  birds  that  already  were  singing  in 
25  the  gardens,  or  than  the  two  muleteers,  who, — good,  honest 
fellows,  — saluted  the  handsome  boy  kindly,  thinking  no  ill  at 
his  making  free  with  their  straw,  though  no  leave  had  been 
asked. 

With  these  philo-garlic°  men  Kate  took  her  departure. 
30 The  morning  was  divine;  and,  leaving  Valladolid  with  the 
transports  that  befitted  such  a golden  dawn, — feeling  also 
already,  in  the  very  obscurity  of  her  exit,  the  pledge  of  her 
final  escape,  — she  cared  no  longer  for  the  crocodile,  nor  for 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


117 


St.  Sebastian,  nor  (in  the  way  of  fear)  for  the  protector  of  St. 
Sebastian,  though  of  him  she  thought  with  some  tenderness ; 
so  deep  is  the  remembrance  of  kindness  mixed  with  justice. 
Andalusia  she  reached  rather  slowly;  many  weeks  the 
journey  cost  her°;  but,  after  all,  what  are  weeks?  She 5 
reached  Seville0  many  months  before  she  was  sixteen0  years 
old,  and  quite  in  time  for  the  expedition. 

19. — An  Ugly  Dilemma,  where  Right  and  Wrong  is 

REDUCED  TO  A QUESTION  OF  RlGHT  OR  LEFT. 

Ugly  indeed  is  that  dilemma  where  shipwreck  and  the 
sea  are  on  one  side  of  you,  and  famine  on  the  other,  or,  if  a 
chance  of  escape  is  offered,  apparently  it  depends  upon  10 
taking  the  right  road  where  there  is  no  guide-post. 

St.  Lucar°  being  the  port  of  rendezvous  for  the  Peruvian 
expedition,  thither  she  went.  All  comers  were  welcome  on 
board  the  fleet;  much  more  a fine  young  fellow  like  Kate. 
She  was  at  once  engaged  as  a mate0 ; and  her  ship,  in  par- 15 
ticular,  after  doubling  Cape  Horn  without  loss,  made  the 
coast  of  Peru.  Paita  was  the  port  of  her  destination.0  Very 
near  to  this  port  they  were,  when  a storm  threw  them  upon 
a coral  reef.  There  was  little  hope  of  the  ship  from  the 
first,  for  she  was  unmanageable,  and  was  not  expected  to  hold  20 
together  for  twenty-four  hours.  In  this  condition,  with 
death  before  their  faces,  mark  what  Kate  did ; and  please  to 
remember  it  for  her  benefit,  when  she  does  any  other  little 
thing  that  angers  you.  The  crew  lowered  the  long-boat. 
Vainly  the  captain  protested  against  this  disloyal  desertion  25 
of  a king's  ship,  which  might  yet,  perhaps,  be  run  on  shore, 
so  as  to  save  the  stores.  All  the  crew,  to  a man,  deserted  the 
captain.  You  may  say  that  literally;  for  the  single  exception 
was  not  a man.  being  our  bold-hearted  Kate.  She  was  the 


118 


THE  ESSA 


OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


only  sailor  that  refused  to  leave  her  captain,  or  the  King  of 
Spain's  ship.  The  rest  pulled  away  for  the  shore,  and  with 
fair  hopes  of  reaching  it.  But  one  half-hour  told  another 
tale.  Just  about  that  time  came  a broad  sheet  of  lightning, 
5 which,  through  the  darkness  of  evening,  revealed  the  boat  in 
the  very  act  of  mounting  like  a horse  upon  an  inner  reef, 
instantly  filling,  and  throwing  out  the  crew,  every  man  of 
whom  disappeared  amongst  the  breakers.  The  night  which 
succeeded  was  gloomy  for  both  the  representatives  of  his 
10  Catholic  Majesty.0  It  cannot  be  denied  by  the  underwriters 
at  Lloyd’s0  that  the  muleteer’s  stable  at  Valladolid  was  worth 
twenty  such  ships,  though  the  stable  was  not  insured  against 
fire,  and  the  ship  was  insured  against  the  sea  and  the  wind  by 
some  fellow  that  thought  very  little  of  his  engagements. 
15  But  what’s  the  use  of  sitting  down  to  cry  ? That  was  never 
any  trick  of  Catalina’s.  By  daybreak  she  was  at  work  with 
an  axe  in  her  hand.  I knew  it,  before  ever  I came  to  this 
place  in  her  memoirs.  I felt,  as  sure  as  if  I had  read  it, 
that  when  day  broke  we  should  find  Kate  at  work.  Thimble 
20  or  axe,  trousers  or  raft,  all  one  to  her. 

The  captain,  though  true  to  his  duty,  faithful  to  his  king, 
and  on  his  king’s  account  even  hopeful,  seems  from  the  first 
to  have  desponded  on  his  own.  He  gave  no  help  towards 
the  raft.  Signs  were  speaking,  however,  pretty  loudly  that 
25  he  must  do  something ; for  notice  to  quit  was  now  served 
pretty  liberally.  Kate’s  raft  was  ready;  and  she  encouraged 
the  captain  to  think  that  it  'would  give  both  of  them  some- 
thing  to  hold  by  in  swimming,  if  not  even  carry  double.  At 
this  moment,  when  all  was  waiting  for  a start  and  the  ship 
:>0  herself  was  waiting  only  for  a final  lurch  to  say  Good-bye  to 
the  King  of  Spain,  Kate  went  and  did  a thing  which  some 
erring  people  will  misconstrue.  She  knew  of  a box  laden 
with  gold  coins,  reputed  to  be  the  King  of  Spain’s,  and  meant 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN  119 

for  contingencies  on  the  voyage  out.  This  she  smashed 
open  with  her  axe,  and  took  out  a sum  in  ducats  and  pistoles0 
equal  to  one  hundred  guineas  English;  which,  having  well 
secured  in  a pillow-case,  she  then  lashed  firmly  to  the  raft. 
Now,  this,  you  know,  though  not  “flotsam,  ” because  it  would  5 
not  float,  was  certainly,  by  maritime  law,  “jetsam”0  It 
would  be  the  idlest  of  scruples  to  fancy  that  the  sea  or  a shark 
had  a better  right  to  it  than  a philosopher,  or  a splendid  girl 
who  showed  herself  capable  of  writing  a very  fair  8vo,°  to  say 
nothing  of  her  decapitating  in  battle,  as  you  will  find,  more  10 
than  one  of  the  king’s  enemies,  and  recovering  the  king’s 
banner.  No  sane  moralist  would  hesitate  to  do  the  same 
thing  under  the  same  circumstances,  even  on  board  an 
English  vessel,  and  though  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty, 
and  the  Secretary,  that  pokes  his  nose  into  everything  15 
nautical,0  should  be  looking  on.  The  raft  was  now  thrown 
into  the  sea.  Kate  jumped  after  it,  and  then  entreated  the 
captain  to  follow  her.  He  attempted  it;  but,  wanting  her 
jmuthful  agility,  he  struck  his  head  against  a spar,  and  sank 
like  lead,  giving  notice  below  that  his  ship  was  coming  after  20 
him  as  fast  as  she  could  make  ready.  Kate’s  luck  was 
better : she  mounted  the  raft,  and  by  the  rising  tide  was 
gradually  washed  ashore,  but  so  exhausted  as  to  have  lost  all 
recollection.  She  lay  for  hours,  until  the  warmth  of  the  sun 
revived  her.  On  sitting  up,  she  saw  a desolate  shore  stretch-  25 
ing  both  ways  — nothing  to  eat,  nothing  to  drink;  but 
fortunately  the  raft  and  the  money  had  been  thrown  near 
her,  none  of  the  lashings  having  given  way : only  what  is 
the  use  of  a gold  ducat,  though  worth  nine  shillings  in  silver, 
or  even  of  a hundred,  amongst  tangle  and  sea-gulls  ? The  30 
money  she  distributed  amongst  her  pockets,  and  soon 
found  strength  to  rise  and  march  forward.  But  which  was 
forward?  and  which  backward?  She  knew  by  the  con- 


i I:  1 1 I'll  '"'‘‘l  Il'Ji  j 

120  THE  ESS  A TS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QU1NCEY 

versation  of  the  sailors  that  Paita  must  be  in  the  neighbour* 
hood;  and  Paita,  being  a port,  could  not  be  in  the  inside  of 
Peru,  but,  of  course,  somewhere  on  its  outside  — and  the 
outside  of  a maritime  land  must  be  the  shore ; so  that,  if  she 
5 kept  the  shore,  and  went  far  enough,  she  could  not  fail  of 
hitting  her  foot  against  Paita  at  last,  in  the  very  darkest  of 
nights,  provided  only  she  could  first  find  out  which  was  up 
and  which  was  down:  else  she  might  walk  her  shoes  off,  and 
find  herself,  after  all,  a thousand  miles  in  the  wrong.  Here 
10  was  an  awkward  case,  and  ail  for  want  of  a guide-post.  Still, 
when  one  thinks  of  Kate’s  prosperous  horoscope,  — that, 
after  so  long  a voyage,  she  only,  out  of  the  total  crew,  was 
thrown  on  the  American  shore,  with  one  hundred  and  five 
pounds  in  her  purse  of  clear  gain  on  the  voyage,  — a conviction 
15  arises  that  she  could  not  guess  wrongly.  She  might  have 
tossed  up,  having  coins  in  her  pocket,  heads  or  tails  ! but  this 
kind  of  sortilege  was  then  coming  to  be  thought  irreligious  in 
Christendom,  as  a Jewish  and  a heathen  mode  of  questioning 
the  dark  future.0  She  simply  guessed,  therefore  ; and  very 
20  soon  a thing  happened  which,  though  adding  nothing  to 
strengthen  her  guess  as  a true  one,  did  much  to  sweeten  it, 
if  it  should  prove  a false  one.  On  turning  a point  of  the 
shore,  she  came  upon  a barrel  of  biscuit  washed  ashore  from 
the  ship.  Biscuit  is  one  of  the  best  things  I know,  even  if 
25  not  made  by  Mrs.  Bobo° ; but  it  is  the  soonest  spoiled ; and 
one  would  like  to  hear  counsel  on  one  puzzling  point,  — why 
it  is  that  a touch  of  water  utterly  ruins  it,  taking  its  life,  and 
leaving  behind  a caput  mortuum.0  Upon  this  caput , in  de- 
fault of  anything  better,  Kate  breakfasted.  And,  breakfast 
30  being  over,  she  rang  the  bell  for  the  waiter  to  take  away,  and 
to  — Stop ! what  nonsense ! There  could  be  no  bell ; 
besides  which,  there  could  be  no  waiter.  Well,  then,  with- 
out asking  the  waiter’s  aid,  she  that  was  always  prudent 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN  121 

packed  up  some  of  the  Catholic  king’s  biscuit,  as  she  had 
previously  packed  up  far  too  little  of  his  gold.  But  in  such 
cases  a most  delicate  question  occurs,  pressing  equally  on 
dietetics  and  algebra.  It  is  this : if  you  pack  up  too  much, 
then,  by  this  extra  burden  of  salt  provisions,  you  may  retard  5 
for  days  your  arrival  at  fresh  provisions ; on  the  other  hand, 
if  you  pack  up  too  little,  you  may  famish,  and  never  arrive 
at  all.  Catalina  hit  the  juste  milieu0 ; and  about  twilight  on 
the  third  day  she  found  herself  entering  Paita,  without 
having  had  to  swim  any  very  broad  river  in  her  walk.  10 

11. — From  the  Malice  of  the  Sea  to  the  Malice  of 

Man  and  Woman. 

The  first  thing,  in  such  a case  of  distress,  which  a young 
lady  does,  even  if  she  happens  to  be  a young  gentleman,  is 
to  beautify  her  dress.  Kate  always  attended  to  that.  The 
man  she  sent  for  was  not  properly  a tailor,  but  one  who 
employed  tailors,  he  himself  furnishing  the  materials.  His  15 
name  was  Urquiza,  — a fact  of  very  little  importance  to  us 
in  1854,°  if  it  had  stood  only  at  the  head  and  foot  of  Kate’s 
little  account.  But,  unhappily  for  Kate’s  debut  on  this  vast 
American  stage,  the  case  was  otherwise.  Mr.  Urquiza  had 
the  misfortune  (equally  common  in  the  Old  World  and  the  20 
New)  of  being  a knave,  and  also  a showy,  specious  knave. 
Kate,  who  had  prospered  under  sea  allowances  of  biscuit  and 
hardship,  was  now  expanding  in  proportions.  With  very 
little  vanity  or  consciousness  on  that  head,  she  now  displayed 
a really  magnificent  person ; and,  when  dressed  anew  in  the  2« 
way  that  became  a young  officer  in  the  Spanish  service,  she 
■ooked°  the  representative  picture  of  a Spanish  caballador.0 
It  is  strange  that  such  an  appearance,  and  such  a rank, 
should  have  suggested  to  Urquiza  the  presumptuous  idea  of 


122  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y 

wishing  that  Kate  might  become  his  clerk.  He  did,  how- 
ever, wish  it*  for  Kate  wrote  a beautiful  hand;  and  a 
stranger  thing  is  that  Kate  accepted  his  proposal.  This 
might  arise  from  the  difficulty  of  moving  in  those  days  to 
5 any  distance  in  Peru.  The  ship  which  threw  Kate  ashore 
had  been  merely  bringing  stores  to  the  station  of  Paita;  and 
no  corps  of  the  royal  armies  was  readily  to  be  reached,  whilst 
something  must  be  done  at  once  for  a livelihood.  Urquiza 
had  two  mercantile  establishments  — one  at  Trujillo,0  to 
10  which  he  repaired  in  person,  on  Kate’s  agreeing  to  undertake 
the  management  of  the  other  in  Paita.  Like  the  sensible 
girl  that  we  have  always  found  her,  she  demanded  specific 
instructions  for  her  guidance  in  duties  so  new.  Certainly 
she  was  in  a fair  way  for  seeing  life.  Telling  her  beads  at  St. 
15  Sebastian’s,  manoeuvring  irregular  verbs  at  Vittoria,  acting 
as  gentleman-usher  at  Valladolid,  serving  his  Spanish  Majesty 
round  Cape  Horn,  fighting  with  storms  and  sharks  off  the 
coast  of  Peru,  and  now  commencing  as  book-keeper  or  com- 
mis°  to  a draper  at  Paita  — does  she  not  justify  the  char- 
20  acter  that  I myself  gave  her,  just  before  dismissing  her  from 
St.  Sebastian’s,  of  being  a “ handy”  girl?  Mr.  Urquiza’s 
instructions  were  short,  easy  to  be  understood,  but  rather 
comic;  and  yet  (which  is  odd)  they  led  to  tragic  results. 
There  were  two  debtors  of  the  shop  {many,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 
25  but  two  meriting  his  affectionate  notice)  with  respect  to 
whom  he  left  the  most  opposite  directions.  The  one  was  a 
very  handsome  lady°;  and  the  rule  as  to  her  was  that  she 
was  to  have  credit  unlimited,  — strictly  unlimited.  That 
seemed  plain.  The  other  customer,  favoured  by  Mr.  Ur- 
30  quiza’s  valedictory  thoughts,  was  a young  man,  cousin  to  the 
handsome  lady,  and  bearing  the  name  of  Reyes.  This  youth 
occupied  in  Mr.  Urquiza’s  estimate  the  same  hyperbolical 
rank  as  the  handsome  lady,  but  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


123 


equation.  The  rule  as  to  him  was  that  he  was  to  have  no 
credit,  — strictly  none.  In  this  case,  also,  Kate  saw  no  diffi- 
culty; and,  when  she  came  to  know  Mr.  Reyes  a little,  she 
found  the  path  of  pleasure  coinciding  with  the  path  of  duty. 
Mr.  Urquiza  could  not  be  more  precise  in  laying  down  the  5 
rale  than  Kate  was  in  enforcing  it.  But  in  the  other  case 
a scruple  arose.  Unlimited  might  be  a word,  not  of  Spanish 
law,  but  of  Spanish  rhetoric;  such  as,  u Live  a thousand 
years,”0  which  even  annuity  offices  utter  without  a pang. 
Kate  therefore  wrote  to  Trujillo,  expressing  her  honest  fears,  id 
and  desiring  to  have  more  definite  instructions.  These  were 
positive.  If  the  lady  chose  to  send  for  the  entire  shop,  her 
account  was  to  be  debited  instantly  with  that.  She  had, 
however,  as  yet,  not  sent  for  the  shop;  but  she  began  to 
manifest  strong  signs  of  sending  for  the  shopman.  Upon  15 
the  blooming  young  Biscayan  had  her  roving  eye  settled; 
and  she  was  in  the  course  of  making  up  her  mind  to  take 
Kate  for  a sweetheart.  Poor  Kate  saw  this  with  a heavy 
heart.  And,  at  the  same  time  that  she  had  a prospect  of  a 
tender  friend  more  than  she  wanted,  she  had  become  certain  20 
of  an  extra  enemy  that  she  wanted  quite  as  little.  What 
she  had  done  to  offend  Mr.  Reyes  Kate  could  not  guess, 
except  as  to  the  matter  of  the  credit ; but,  then,  in  that  she 
only  followed  her  instructions.  Still,  Mr.  Reyes  was  of 
opinion  that  there  were  two  ways  of  executing  orders.  But  25 
the  main  offence  was  unintentional  on  Kate's  part.  Reyes 
(though  as  yet  she  did  not  know  it)  had  himself  been  a can- 
didate for  the  situation  of  clerk,  and  intended  probably  to 
keep  the  equation  precisely  as  it  was  with  respect  to  the 
allowance  of  credit,  — only  to  change  places  with  the  hand-  sq 
some  lady  — keeping  her  on  the  negative  side,  himself  on  the 
affirmative  : an  arrangement,  you  know,  that  in  the  final  result 
could  have  made  no  sort  of  pecuniary  difference  to  Urquiza 


124  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QU1NCEY 


Thus  stood  matters  when  a party  of  vagrant  comedians 
strolled  into  Paita.  Kate,  being  a native  Spaniard,  ranked 
as  one  of  the  Paita  aristocracy,  and  was  expected  to  attend. 
She  did  so;  and  there  also  was  the  malignant  Reyes.  He 
5 came  and  seated  himself  purposely  so  as  to  shut  out  Kate 
from  all  view  of  the  stage.  She,  who  had  nothing  of  the  bully 
in  her  nature,  and  was  a gentle  creature  when  her  wild  Bis- 
cayan0 blood  had  not  been  kindled  by  insult,  courteously 
requested  him  to  move  a little;  upon  which  Reyes  replied 
10  that  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  oblige  the  clerk  as  to  that, 
but  that  he  could  oblige  him  by  cutting  his  throat.  The 
tiger  that  slept  in  Catalina  wakened  at  once.  She  seized  him, 
and  would  have  executed  vengeance  on  the  spot,  but  that  a 
party  of  young  men  interposed,  for  the  present,  to  part  them. 
35  The  next  day,  when  Kate  (always  ready  to  forget  and  forgive) 
was  thinking  no  more  of  the  row,  Reyes  passed : by  spitting 
at  the  window,  and  other  gestures  insulting  to  Kate,  again 
he  roused  her  Spanish  blood.  Out  she  rushed,  sword  in  hand  ; 
a duel  began  in  the  street;  and  very  soon  Kate’s  sword  had 
20  passed  into  the  heart  of  Reyes.  Now  that  the  mischief  was 
done,  the  police  were,  as  usual,  all  alive  for  the  pleasure  of 
avenging  it.  Kate  found  herself  suddenly  in  a strong  prison 
and  with  small  hopes  of  leaving  it,  except  for  execution. 

12.  — From  the  Steps  leading  up  to  the  Scaffold 
to  the  Steps  leading  down  to  Assassination. 

The  relatives  of  the  dead  man  were  potent  in  Paita,  and 
25  clamorous  for  justice ; so  that  the  corregidor ,°  in  a case  where 
he  saw  a very  poor  chance  of  being  corrupted  by  bribes,  felt 
it  his  duty  to  be  sublimely  incorruptible.  The  reader  knows, 
however,  that  amongst  the  connexions  of  the  deceased  bully 
was  that  handsome  lady  who  differed  as  much  from  her  cousin 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


125 


in  her  sentiments  as  to  Kate  as  she  did  in  the  extent  of  her 
credit  with  Mr.  Urquiza.  To  her  Kate  wrote  a note;  and, 
using  one  of  the  Spanish  King’s  gold  coins  for  bribing  the 
jailer,  got  it  safely  delivered.  That,  perhaps,  was  unneces- 
sary; for  the  lady  had  been  already  on  the  alert,  and  had  5 
summoned  Urquiza  from  Trujillo.  By  some  means  not  very 
luminously  stated,0  and  by  paying  proper  fees  in  proper 
quarters,  Kate  was  smuggled  out  of  the  prison  at  nightfall, 
and  smuggled  into  a pretty  house  in  the  suburbs.  Had  she 
known  exactly  the  footing  she  stood  on  as  to  the  law,  she  10 
would  have  been  decided.  As  it  was,  she  was  uneasy,  and 
jealous0  of  mischief  abroad;  and,  before  supper,  she  under- 
stood it  all.  Urquiza  briefly  informed  his  clerk  that  it  would 
be  requisite  for  him  (the  clerk)  to  marry  the  handsome  lady. 
But  why  ? Because,  said  Urquiza,  after  talking  for  hours  15 
with  the  corregidor , who  was  infamous  for  obstinacy,  he  had 
found  it  impossible  to  make  him  “hear  reason”  and  release 
the  prisoner  until  this  compromise  of  marriage  was  suggested. 
But  how  could  public  justice  be  pacified  for  the  clerk’s  un- 
fortunate homicide  of  Reyes  by  a female  cousin  of  the  de-20 
ceased  man  engaging  to  love,  honour,  and  obey0  the  clerk  for 
life ? Kate  could  not  see  her  way  through  this  logic.  “Non- 
sense, my  friend,”  said  Urquiza;  “you  don’t  comprehend. 

As  it  stands,  the  affair  is  a murder,  and  hanging  the  penalty. 
But,  if  you  marry  into  the  murdered  man’s  house,  then  it  25 
becomes  a little  family  murder  — all  quiet  and  comfortable 
amongst  ourselves.  What  has  the  corregidor  to  do  with  that  ? 
or  the  public  either?  Now,  let  me  introduce  the  bride.” 
Supper  entered  at  that  moment,  and  the  bride  immediately 
after.  The  thoughtfulness  of  Kate  was  narrowly  observed,  30 
and  even  alluded  to,  but  politely  ascribed  to  the  natural 
anxieties  of  a prisoner  and  the  very  imperfect  state  of  his 
liberation  even  yet  from  prison  surveillance.  Kate  had, 


126  TEE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


indeed,  never  been  in  so  trying  a situation  before.  The  anx- 
ieties of  the  farewell  night  at  St.  Sebastian  were  nothing  to 
this ; because,  even  if  she  had  failed  then , a failure  might  not 
have  been  always  irreparable.  It  was  but  to  watch  and  wait. 

5 But  now,  at  this  supper  table,  she  was  not  more  alive  to  the 
nature  of  the  peril  than  she  was  to  the  fact  that,  if  before  the 
night  closed  she  did  not  by  some  means  escape  from  it,  she 
never  would  escape  with  life.  The  deception  as  to  her  sex, 
though  resting  on  no  motive  that  pointed  to  these  people, 
10  or  at  all  concerned  them,  would  be  resented  as  if  it  had.  The 
lady  would  regard  the  case  as  a mockery;  and  Urquiza 
would  lose  his  opportunity  of  delivering  himself  from  an  im- 
perious mistress.  According  to  the  usages  of  the  times  and 
country,  Kate  knew  that  within  twelve  hours  she  would  be 
15  assassinated. 

People  of  infirmer  resolution  would  have  lingered  at  the 
supper  table,  for  the  sake  of  putting  off  the  evil  moment  of 
final  crisis.  Not  so  Kate.  She  had  revolved  the  case  on  all 
its  sides  in  a few  minutes,  and  had  formed  her  resolution. 
20  This  done,  she  was  as  ready  for  the  trial  at  one  moment  as 
another;  and,  when  the  lady  suggested  that  the  hardships 
of  a prison  must  have  made  repose  desirable,  Kate  assented, 
and  instantly  rose.  A sort  of  procession  formed,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  doing  honour  to  the  interesting  guest,  and  escorting 
25  him  in  pomp  to  his  bedroom.  Kate  viewed  it  much  in  the 
same  light  as  that  procession  to  which  for  some  days  she  had 
been  expecting  an  invitation  from  the  corregidor.  Far  ahead 
ran  the  servant- woman,  as  a sort  of  outrider;  then  came 
Urquiza,  like  a pacha  of  two  tails,0  who  granted  two  sorts  of 
30  credit  — viz.  unlimited  and  none  at  all  — bearing  two  wax- 
lights,  one  in  each  hand,  and  wanting  only  cymbals  and 
kettle-drums  to  express  emphatically  the  pathos  of  his  Cas- 
tilian strut ; next  came  the  bride,  a little  in  advance  of  the 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


127 


clerk,  but  still  turning  -obliquely  towards  him,  and  smiling 
graciously  into  his  face;  lastly,  bringing  up  the  rear,  came 
the  prisoner  — our  poor  ensnared  Kate  — the  nun,  the  page, 
the  mate,  the  clerk,  the  homicide,  the  convict,  and,  for  this 
night  only,  by  particular  desire,  the  bridegroom-elect.  5 

It  was  Kate’s  fixed  opinion  that,  if  for  a moment  she  en- 
tered any  bedroom  having  obviously  no  outlet,  her  fate 
would  be  that  of  an  ox  once  driven  within  the  shambles. 
Outside,  the  bullock  might  make  some  defence  with  his  horns ; 
but,  once  in,  with  no  space  for  turning,  he  is  muffled  and  10 
gagged.  She  carried  her  eye,  therefore,  like  a hawk’s,  steady, 
though  restless,  for  vigilant  examination  of  every  angle  she 
turned.  Before  she  entered  any  bedroom,  she  was  resolved 
to  reconnoitre  it  from  the  doorway,  and,  in  case  of  necessity, 
show  fight  at  once  before  entering,  as  the  best  chance  in  a 15 
crisis  where  all  chances  were  bad.  Everything  ends;  and 
at  last  the  procession  reached  the  bedroom-door,  the  outrider 
having  filed  off  to  the  rear.  One  glance  sufficed  to  satisfy 
Kate  that  windows  there  were  none,  and  therefore  no  outlet 
for  escape.  Treachery  appeared  even  in  that;  and  Kate,  20 
though  unfortunately  without  arms,  was  now  fixed  for  re- 
sistance. Mr.  Urquiza  entered  first,  with  a strut  more  than 
usually  grandiose,  and  inexpressibly  sublime  — “ Sound  the 
trumpets!  Beat  the  drums!”0  There  were,  as  we  know 
already,  no  windows;  but  a slight  interruption  to  Mr.  Ur- 25 
quiza’s  pompous  tread  showed  that  there  were  steps  down- 
wards into  the  room.  Those,  thought  Kate,  will  suit  me 
even  better.  She  had  watched  the  unlocking  of  the  bedroom- 
door  — she  had  lost  nothing  — she  had  marked  that  the  key 
was  left  in  the  lock.  At  this  moment,  the  beautiful  lady,  30 
as  one  acquainted  with  the  details  of  the  house,  turning  with 
the  air  of  a gracious  monitress,  held  out  her  fair  hand  to  guide 
Kate  in  careful  descent  of  the  steps.  This  had  the  air  of 


128  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 

taking  out  Kate  to  dance ; and  Kate,  at  that  same  moment 
answering  to  it  by  the  gesture  of  a modern  waltzer,0  thre\* 
her  arm  behind  the  lady’s  waist,  hurled  her  headlong  down 
the  steps  right  against  Mr.  Urquiza,  draper  and  haberdasher, 
5 and  then,  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  throwing  the  door 
home  within  its  architrave,  doubly  locked  the  creditor  and 
unlimited  debtor  into  the  rat-trap  which  they  had  prepared 
for  herself. 

The  affrighted  outrider  fled  with  horror ; she  knew  that  the 
10  clerk  had  already  committed  one  homicide ; a second  would 
cost  him  still  less  thought ; and  thus  it  happened  that  egress 
was  left  easy. 

13.  — From  Human  Malice  back  again  to  the  Malice 

of  Winds  and  Waves. 

But,  when  abroad,  and  free  once  more  in  the  bright  starry 
night,  which  way  should  Kate  turn  ? The  whole  city  would 
15  prove  but  one  vast  rat-trap  for  her,  as  bad  as  Mr.  Urquiza’s, 
if  she  was  not  off  before  morning.  At  a glance  she  compre- 
hended that  the  sea  was  her  only  chance.  To  the  port 
she  fled.  All  was  silent.  Watchmen  there  were  none ; and  she 
jumped  into  a boat.  To  use  the  oars  was  dangerous,  for  she 
20  had  no  means  of  muffling  them.  But  she  contrived  to  hoist 
a sail,  pushed  off  with  a boat-hook,  and  was  soon  stretching 
across  the  water  for  the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  before  a breeze 
light  but  favourable.  Having  cleared  the  difficulties  of  exit, 
she  lay  down,  and  unintentionally  fell  asleep.  When  she 
25  awoke,  the  sun  had  been  up  three  or  four  hours ; all  was  ri  ght 
otherwise;  but,  had  she  not  served  as  a sailor,  Kate  would 
have  trembled  upon  finding  that,  during  her  long  sleep  of 
perhaps  seven  or  eight  hours,  she  had  lost  sight  of  land ; by 
what  distance  she  could  only  guess;  and  in  what  direction 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


129 


was  to  some  degree  doubtful.  All  this,  however,  seemed  a 
great  advantage  to  the  bold  girl,  throwing  her  thoughts  back 
on  the  enemies  she  had  left  behind.  The  disadvantage  was  — 
having  no  breakfast,  not  even  damaged  biscuit;  and  some 
anxiety  naturally  arose  as  to  ulterior  prospects  a little  beyond  5 
the  horizon  of  breakfast.  But  who’s  afraid?  As  sailors 
whistle  for  a wind,0  Catalina  really  had  but  to  whistle  for 
anything  with  energy,  and  it  was  sure  to  come.  Like  Caesar 
to  the  pilot  of  Dyrrhachium,  she  might  have  said,  for  the 
comfort  of  her  poor  timorous  boat  (though  a boat  that  in  fact  1G 
was  destined  soon  to  perish),  “ Catalinam  vehis , et  fortunas 
ejus”°  Meantime,  being  very  doubtful  as  to  the  best  course 
for  sailing,  and  content  if  her  course  did  but  lie  off  shore,  she 
“ carried  on,”°  as  sailors  say,  under  easy  sail,  — going,  in  fact, 
just  whither  and  just  how  the  Pacific  breezes  suggested  in  15 
the  gentlest  of  whispers.  All  right  behind , was  Kate’s  opin- 
ion ; and,  what  was  better,  very  soon  she  might  say,  all  right 
ahead;  for,  some  hour  or  two  before  sunset,  when  dinner  was 
for  once  becoming,  even  to  Kate,  the  most  interesting  of 
subjects  for  meditation,  suddenly  a large  ship  began  to  swell  20 
upon  the  brilliant  atmosphere.  In  those  latitudes,  and  in 
those  years,  any  ship  was  pretty  sure  to  be  Spanish : sixty 
years  later,  the  odds  were  in  favour  of  its  being  an  English 
buccaneer0;  which  would  have  given  a new  direction  to 
Kate’s  energy.  Kate  continued  to  nake  signals  with  a 25 
handkerchief  whiter  than  the  crocodile’s  of  Ann.  Dom.  1592 ; 
else  it  would  hardly  have  been  noticed.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
it  would  not,  but  that  the  ship’s  course  carried  her  very 
nearly  across  Kate’s.  The  stranger  lay  to  for  her.  It  was 
dark  by  the  time  Kate  steered  herself  under  the  ship’s  quarter ; 3c 
and  then  was  seen  an  instance  of  this  girl’s  eternal  wakeful- 
ness. Something  was  painted  on  the  stern  of  her  boat,  she 
could  not  see  what;  but  she  judged  that,  whatever  this  might 

K 


130  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  1 )E  QUINCEY 


be,  it  would  express  some  connexion  with  the  port  that  she 
had  just  quitted.  Now,  it  was  her  wish  to  break  the  chain  of 
traces  connecting  her  with  such  a scamp  as  Urquiza;  since, 
else,  through  his  commercial  correspondence,  he  might  dis- 
5 perse  over  Peru  a portrait  of  herself  by  no  means  flattering. 
How  should  she  accomplish  this?  It  was  dark;  and  she 
stood,  as  you  may  see  an  Etonian  do°  at  times,  rocking  her 
little  boat  from  side  to  side,  until  it  had  taken  in  water  as 
much  as  might  be  agreeable.  Too  much  it  proved  for  the 
10  boat's  constitution,  and  the  boat  perished  of  dropsy  — Kate 
declining  to  tap  it.°  She  got  a ducking  herself;  but  what 
cared  she?  Up  the  ship's  side  she  went,  as  gaily  as  ever, 
in  those  years  when  she  was  called  pussy,  she  had  raced  after 
the  nuns  of  St.  Sebastian;  jumped  upon  deck,  and  told  the 
15  first  lieutenant,  when  he  questioned  her  about  her  adven- 
tures, quite  as  much  truth  as  any  man,  under  the  rank  of 
admiral,  had  a right  to  expect. 


14.  — Bright  Gleams  of  Sunshine. 

This  ship  was  full  of  recruits  for  the  Spanish  army,  and 
bound  to  Concepcion.0  Even  in  that  destiny  was  an  iteration 
20  or  repeating  memorial,  of  the  significance  that  ran  through 
Catalina's  most  casual  adventures.  She  had  enlisted 
amongst  the  soldiers ; and,  on  reaching  port,  the  very 
first  person  who  came  off  from  shore  was  a dashing  young 
military  officer,  whom  at  once,  by  his  name0  and  rank  (though 
25  she  had  never  consciously  seen  him),  she  identified  as  her  own 
brother.  He  was  splendidly  situated  in  the  service,  being 
the  Governor-General's0  secretary,  besides  his  rank  as  a 
cavalry  officer;  and,  his  errand  on  board  being  to  inspect 
the  recruits,  naturally,  on  reading  in  the  roll  one  of  them 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


131 


described  as  a Biscayan,0  the  ardent  young  man  came  up 
with  high-bred  courtesy  to  Catalina,  took  the  young  recruit’s 
hand  with  kindness,  feeling  that  to  be  a compatriot  at  so 
great  a distance  was  to  be  a sort  of  relative,  and  asked  with 
emotion  after  old  boyish  remembrances.  There  was  a 5 
scriptural  pathos  in  what  followed,  as  if  it  were  some  scene 
of  domestic  reunion  opening  itself  from  patriarchal  ages.0 
The  young  officer  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  house,  and  had 
left  Spain  when  Catalina  was  only  three  years  old.  But, 
singularly  enough,  Catalina  it  was,  the  little  wild  cat  that  10 
he  yet  remembered  seeing  at  St.  Sebastian’s,  upon  whom 
his  earliest  inquiries  settled.  “Did  the  recruit  know  his 
family,  the  De  Erausos?”  Oh  yes;  everybody  knew  them. 
“Did  the  recruit  know  little  Catalina?”  Catalina  smiled 
is  she  replied  that  she  did ; and  gave  such  an  animated  15 
iescription  of  the  little  fiery  wretch  as  made  the  officer’s  eye 
flash  with  gratified  tenderness,  and  with  certainty  that  the 
recruit  was  no  counterfeit  Biscayan.  Indeed,  you  knowT,  if 
Kate  couldn’t  give  a good  description  of  “pussy,”  who  could? 
The  issue  of  the  interview  was  that  the  officer  insisted  on  20 
Kate’s  making  a home  of  his  quarters.  He  did  other  services 
for  his  unknown  sister.  He  placed  her  as  a trooper  in  his 
own  regiment,  and  favoured  her  in  many  a way  that  is  open 
to  one  having  authority.0  But  the  person,  after  all,  that  did 
most  to  serve  our  Kate,  was  Kate.  War  was  then  raging  25 
with  Indians,  both  from  Chili  and  Peru.  Kate  had  always 
done  her  duty  in  action ; but  at  length,  in  the  decisive  battle 
of  Puren,°  there  was  an  opening  for  doing  something  more. 
Havoc  had  been  made  of  her  own  squadron;  most  of  the 
officers  were  killed,  and  the  standard  was  carried  off.  Kate  30 
gathered  around  her  a small  party  — galloped  after  the 
Indian  column  that  was  carrying  away  the  trophy  — charged 
— saw  all  her  own  party  killed  — but,  in  spite  of  wounds  on 


132  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUIXCEY 

her  face  and  shoulder,  succeeded  in  bearing  away  the  re* 
covered  standard.  She  rode  up  to  the  general  and  his  staff : 
she  dismounted ; she  rendered  up  her  prize : and  fainted 
away,  much  less  from  the  blinding  blood  than  from  the 
r>  tears  of  joy  which  dimmed  her  eyes  as  the  general,  waving 
his  sword  in  admiration  over  her  head,  pronounced  our 
Kate  on  the  spot  an  Alferez ,c  or  standard-bearer,  with  a 
commission  from  the  King  of  Spain  and  the  Indies.0  Bonny 
Kate ! noble  Kate ! I would  there  were  not  two  centuries 
10  laid  between  us,  so  that  I might  have  the  pleasure  of  kiss- 
ing thy  fair  hand. 


15.  — The  Sunshine  is  Overcast. 

Kate  had  the  good  sense  to  see  the  danger  of  revealing  her 
sex.  or  her  relationship,  even  to  her  own  brother.  The  grasp 
of  the  Church  never  relaxed,  never  4 4 prescribed,*  3 unless 
15  freely  and  by  choice.  The  nun,  if  discovered,  would  have 
been  taken  out  of  the  hcrse-barracks  or  the  dragoon-saddle. 
She  had  the  firmness,  therefore,  for  manv  vears.  to  resist  the 

J / v » 7 

sisterly  impulses  that  sometimes  suggested  such  a confidence. 
For  years.0  and  those  years  the  most  important  of  her  life  — 
20  the  years  that  developed  her  character  — she  lived  unde- 
tected as  a brilliant  cavalry  officer,  under  her  brother's 

V J 

patronage.  And  the  bitterest  grief  in  poor  Kates  whole 
life  was  the  tragical  (and,  were  it  not  fully  attested,  one 
might  say  the  ultra-scenical)  event  that  dissolved  their  long 
25  connexion.  Let  me  spend  a word  of  apology  on  poor  Kate’s 
errors.  We  all  commit  manv;  both  vou  and  I,  reader. 
Xo,  stop:  that’s  not  civil.  You,  reader,  I know,  are  a saint; 
I am  not , though  very  near  it.  I do  err  at  long  intervals; 
and  then  I think  with  indulgence  of  the  many  circumstances 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


133 


that  plead  for  this  poor  girl.  The  Spanish  armies  of  that  clay 
inherited,  from  the  days  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro,  shining  re- 
membrances of  martial  prowess,  and  the  very  worst  of  ethics. 
To  think  little  of  bloodshed,  to  quarrel,  to  fight,  to  gamble, 
to  plunder,  belonged  to  the  very  atmosphere  of  a camp,  to  5 
its  indolence,  to  its  ancient  traditions.  In  your  own  defence, 
you  were  obliged  to  do  such  things.  Besides  all  these  grounds 
of  evil,  the  Spanish  army  had  just  then  an  extra  demoralisa- 
tion from  a Avar  with  sa\rages  — faithless  and  bloody.  Do 
not  think  too  much,  reader,  of  killing  a man  — do  not,  I in 
beseech  you  ! That  word  “ kill ” is  sprinkled  over  etrery  page 
Kate's  own  autobiography.0  It  ought  not  to  be  read  by 
the  light  of  these  days.  Yet,  how  if  a man  that  she  killed 

were ? Hush  ! It  Avas  sad ; but  is  better  hurried  0Arer 

in  a few  Avords.  Years  after  this  period,0  a young  officer,  15 
one  day  dining  with  Kate,  entreated  her  to  become  his  second 
in  a duel.  Such  things  were  eA^eryday  affairs.  However, 
Kate  had  reasons  for  declining  the  service,  and  did  so.  But 
the  officer,  as  he  was  sullenly  departing,  said  that,  if  he  Avere 
killed  (as  he  thought  he  should  be),  his  death  would  lie  at 20 
Kate's  door.  I do  not  take  his  view  of  the  case,  and  am  not 
moA^ed  by  his  rhetoric  or  his  logic.  Kate  was , and  relented. 
The  duel  was  fixed  for  eleA^en  at  night,  under  the  AATails  of  a 
monastery.  Unhappily,  the  night  proved  unusually  dark, 
so  that  the  tAVo  principals  had  to  tie  white  handkerchiefs  25 
round  their  elbows,  in  order  to  descry  each  other.  In  the 
confusion  they  AAmunded  each  other  mortally.  Upon  that, 
according  to  a usage  not  peculiar  to  Spaniards,  but  extending 
(as  doubtless  the  reader  knows)  for  a century  longer  to  our 
own  countrymen,0  the  tAvo  seconds  Avere  obliged  in  honour  30 
to  do  something  towards  avenging  their  principals.  Kate 
had  her  usual  fatal  luck.  Her  sAvord  passed  sheer  through 
the  body  of  her  opponent : this  unknown  opponent,  falling 


134  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


dead,  had  just  breath  left  to  cry  out,  “ Ah,  villain  ! you  hav« 
killed  me!”  in  a voice  of  horrific  reproach;  and  the  voice 
was  the  voice  of  her  brother ! 

The  monks  of  the  monastery  under  whose  silent  shadows 
o this  murderous  duel  had  taken  place,  roused  by  the  clashing 
of  swords  and  the  angry  shouts  of  combatants,  issued  out 
with  torches,  to  find  one  only  of  the  four  officers  surviving. 
Every  convent  and  altar  had  the  right  of  asylum0  for  a short 
period.  According  to  the  custom,  the  monks  carried  Kate 
10  insensible  with  anguish  of  mind,  to  the  sanctuary  of  their 
chapel.  There  for  some  days  they  detained  her;  but  then, 
having  furnished  her  with  a horse  and  some  provisions, 
they  turned  her  adrift.  Which  way  should  the  unhappy 
fugitive  turn?  In  blindness  of  heart,  she  turned  towards 
15  the  sea.  It  was  the  sea  that  had  brought  her  to  Peru ; 
it  was  the  sea  that  would  perhaps  carry  her  away.°  It 
was  the  sea  that  had  first  shown  her  this  land  and  its 
golden  hopes;  it  was  the  sea  that  ought  to  hide  from  her 
its  fearful  remembrances.  The  sea  it  was  that  had  twice 
20  spared  her  life  in  extremities ; the  sea  it  was  that  might- 
now,  if  it  chose,  take  back  the  bauble  that  it  had  spared 
in  vain. 


16.  — Kate's  Ascent  of  the  Andes. 

Three  days  our  poor  heroine  followed  the  coast.0  Her 
horse  was  then  almost  unable  to  move;  and  on  his  account 
25  she  turned  inland  to  a thicket,  for  grass  and  shelter.  As  she 
drew  near  to  it,  a voice  challenged,  “Who  goes  there?7'  — 
Kate  answered,  “Spain.”  — “What  people ?”  — “A  friend  ” 
It  was  two  soldiers,  deserters,  and  almost  starving.  Kate 
shared  her  provisions  with  these  men ; and,  on  hearing  their 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


135 


plan,  which  was  to  go  over  the  Cordilleras,0  she  agreed  to  join 
the  party.  Their  object  was  the  wild  one  of  seeking  the 
river  Dorado ,°  whose  waters  rolled  along  golden  sands,  and 
whose  pebbles  were  emeralds.  Hers  was  to  throw  herself 
upon  a line  the  least  liable  to  pursuit,  and  the  readiest  for  a 5 
new  chapter  of  life,  in  which  oblivion  might  be  found  for  the 
past.  After  a few  days  of  incessant  climbing  and  fatigue, 
they  found  themselves  in  the  regions  of  perpetual  snow. 
Summer  came  even  hither ; but  came  as  vainly  to  this  king- 
dom of  frost  as  to  the  grave  of  her  brother.  No  fire  but  the  10 
fire  of  human  blood  in  youthful  veins  could  ever  be  kept  burn- 
ing in  these  aerial  solitudes.  Fuel  was  rarely  to  be  found,  and 
kindling  a fire  by  interfriction  of  dry  sticks  was  a secret 
almost  exclusively  Indian.  However,  our  Kate  can  do  every- 
thing; and  she's  the  girl,  if  ever  girl  did  such  a thing,  that  1 15 
back  at  any  odds  for  crossing  the  Cordilleras.  I would  bet 
you  something  now,  reader,  if  I thought  you  would  deposit 
your  stakes  by  return  of  post  (as  they  play  at  chess  through 
the  post-office) , that  Kate  does  the  trick ; that  she  gets  down 
to  the  other  side ; that  the  soldiers  do  not;  and  that  the  horse,  20 
if  preserved  at  all,  is  preserved  in  a way  that  will  leave  him 
very  little  to  boast  of. 

The  party  had  gathered  wild  berries  and  esculent  roots  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  the  horse  was  of  very  great 
use  in  carrying  them.  But  this  larder  was  soon  emptied.  25 
There  was  nothing  then  to  carry;  so  that  the  horse's  value, 
as  a beast  of  burden,  fell  cent  per  cent.0  In  fact,  very  soon 
he  could  not  carry  himself,  and  it  became  easy  to  calculate 
when  he  would  reach  the  bottom  on  the  wrong  side  the  Cor- 
dilleras. He  took  three  steps  back  for  one  upwards.  A 3d 
council  of  war  being  held,  the  small  army  resolved  to  slaughter 
their  horse.  He,  though  a member  of  the  expedition,  had 
no  vote ; and,  if  he  had,  the  votes  would  have  stood  three  to 


136  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


one  — majority,  twb  against  him.  He  was  cut  into  quarter! 
— a difficult  fraction  to  distribute  amongst  a triad  of  claim- 
ants. No  saltpetre  or  sugar  could  be  had ; but  the  frost  was 
antiseptic.  And  the  horse  was  preserved  in  as  useful  a sense 
5 as  ever  apricots  were  preserved,  or  strawberries;  and  that 
was  the  kind  of  preservation  which  one  page  ago  I promised 
to  the  horse. 

On  a fire  painfully  devised  out  of  broom  and  withered 
leaves  a horse-steak  was  dressed ; for  drink,  snow  was  allowed 
0 a discretion.0  This  ought  to  have  revived  the  party;  and 
Kate,  perhaps,  it  did.  But  the  poor  deserters  were  thinly 
clad,  and  they  had  not  the  boiling  heart  of  Catalina.  More 
and  more  they  drooped.  Kate  did  her  best  to  cheer  them. 
But  the  march  was  nearly  at  an  end  for  them;  and  they  were 
15  going,  in  one  half-hour,  to  receive  their  last  billet.0  Yet, 
before  this  consummation,  they  have  a strange  spectacle  to 
see  — such  as  few  places  could  show  but  the  upper  chambers 
of  the  Cordilleras.  They  had  reached  a billowy  scene  of 

4/  */ 

rocky  masses,  large  and  small,  looking  shockingly  black  on 
20  their  perpendicular  sides  as  they  rose  out  of  the  yast  snowy 
expanse.  Upon  the  highest  of  these  that  was  accessible  Kate 
mounted  to  look  around  her,  and  she  saw  — oh,  rapture  at 
such  an  hour ! — a man  sitting  on  a shelf  of  rock,  with  a gun 
by  his  side.  Joyously  she  shouted  to  her  comrades,  and  ran 
C5  down  to  communicate  the  good  news.  Here  was  a sports- 
man, watching,  perhaps,  tor  an  eagle;  and  now  they  would 
have  relief.  One  man’s  cheek  kindled  with  the  hectic  of 
sudden  joy,  and  he  rose  eagerly  to  march.  The  other  was 
fast  sinking  under  the  fatal  sleep  that  frost  sends  before  her- 
30  self  as  her  merciful  minister  of  death ; but,  hearing  in  his 
dream  the  tidings  of  relief,  and  assisted  by  his  friends,  he 
also  staggeringly  arose.  It  could  not  be  three  minutes’  walk, 
Kate  thought,  to  the  station  of  the  sportsman.  That  thought 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


137 


supported  them  all.  Under  Kate’s  guidance,  who  had  taken 
a sailor’s  glance  at  the  bearings,  they  soon  unthreaded  the 
labyrinth  of  rocks  so  fax  as  to  bring  the  man  within  view. 
He  had  not  left  his  resting-place;  their  steps  on  the  sound- 
less snow,  naturally,  he  could  not  hear;  and,  as  their  roads 
brought  them  upon  him  from  the  rear,  still  less  could  he  see 
them.  Kate  hailed  him ; but  so  keenly  was  he  absorbed  in 
some  speculation,  or  in  the  object  of  his  watching,  that  he 
took  no  notice  of  them,  not  even  moving  his  head.  Coming 
close  behind  him,  Kate  touched  his  shoulder,  and  said,  “Myio 
friend,  are  you' sleeping  ?”  Yes,  he  was  sleeping  — sleeping 
the  sleep  from  which  there  is  no  awaking0;  and,  the  slight 
touch  of  Kate  having  disturbed  the  equilibrium  of  the  corpse, 
down  it  rolled  on  the  snow : the  frozen  body  rang  like  a 
hollow  iron  cylinder;  the  face  uppermost,  and  blue  with  15 
mould,  mouth  open,  teeth  ghastly  and  bleaching  in  the  frost, 
and  a frightful  grin  upon  the  lips.  This  dreadful  spectacle0 
finished  the  struggles  of  the  weaker  man,  who  sank  and  died 
at  once.  The  other  made  an  effort  with  so  much  spirit  that, 
in  Kate’s  opinion,  horror  had  acted  upon  him  beneficially  as  20 
a stimulant.  But  it  was  not  really  so.  It  was  simply  a 
spasm  of  morbid  strength.  A collapse  succeeded;  his  blood 
began  to  freeze;  he  sat  down  in  spite  of  Kate,  and  he  also 
died  without  further  struggle.  Yes,  gone  are  the  poor  suffer- 
ing deserters;  stretched  out  and  bleaching  upon  the  snowT;25 
and  insulted  discipline  is  avenged.  Great  kings  have  long 
arms;  and  sycophants  are  ever  at  hand  for  the  errand 
of  the  potent.  What  had  frost  and  snow  to  do  with  the 
quarrel?  Yet  they  made  themselves  sycophantic  servants 
to  the  King  of  Spain;  and  they  it  was  that  dogged  his 30 
deserters  up  to  the  summit  of  the  Cordilleras,  more  surely 
than  any  Spanish  bloodhound,  or  any  Spanish  tirailleur’s0 
bullet. 


138  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


17. — Kate  stands  alone  on  the  Summit  of  the  Andes. 

Now  is  our  Kate  standing  alone  on  the  summits  of  the 
Andes,  and  in  solitude  that  is  frightful,  for  she  is  alone  with 
her  own  afflicted  conscience.  Twice  before  she  had  stood  in 
solitude  as  deep  upon  the  wild,  wild  waters  of  the  Pacific; 

5 but  her  conscience  had  been  then  untroubled.  Now  is  there 
nobody  left  that  can  help ; her  horse  is  dead  — the  soldiers 
are  dead.  There  is  nobody  that  she  can  speak  to,  except 
God ; and  very  soon  you  will  find  that  she  does  speak  to  Him  ; 
for  already  on  these  vast  aerial  deserts  He  has  been  whisper- 
10  ing  to  her . The  condition  of  Kate  in  some  respects  resembled 
that  of  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner.0  But  possibly,  reader, 
you  may  be  amongst  the  many  careless  readers  that  have 
never  fully  understood  what  that  condition  was.  Suffer  me 
to  enlighten  you;  else  you  ruin  the  story  of  the  manner, 
15  and,  by  losing  all  its  pathos,  lose  half  its  beauty. 

There  are  three  readers  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.  The 
first  is  gross  enough  to  fancy  all  the  imagery  of  the  mariner’s 
visions  delivered  by  the  poet  for  actual  facts  of  experience ; 
which  being  impossible,  the  whole  pulverises,  for  that  reader, 
20  into  a baseless  fairy  tale.  The  second  reader  is  wiser  than 
that;  he  knows  that  the  imagery  is  the  imagery  of  febrile 
delirium;  really  seen,  but  not  seen  as  an  external  reality. 
The  mariner  had  caught  the  pestilential  fever  which  carried 
off  all  his  mates ; he  onlv  had  survived : the  delirium  had 
25  vanished ; but  the  visions  that  had  haunted  the  delirium 
remained.  “Yes,”  says  the  third  reader,  “they  remained; 
naturally  they  did,  being  scorched  by  fever  into  his  brain ; 
but  how  did  they  happen  to  remain  on  his  belief  as  gospel 
truths  ? The  delirium  had  vanished ; why  had  not  the  painted 
30  scenery  of  the  delirium  vanished  except  as  visionary  memo- 
rials of  a sorrow  that  was  cancelled?  Why  was  it  that 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


139 


craziness  settled  upon  this  mariner's  brain,  driving  him,  as  if 
he  were  a Cain,°  or  another  Wandering  Jew,°  to  ‘pass  like 
night  from  land  to  land/0  and,  at  certain  intervals,  wrench- 
ing him  until  he  made  rehearsal  of  his  errors,  even  at  the 
difficult  cost  of  ‘holding  children  from  their  play,  and  old 5 
men  from  the  chimney  corner'?”0  That  craziness,  as 
the  third  reader  deciphers,  rose  out  of  a deeper  soil  than  any 
bodily  affection.  It  had  its  root  in  penitential  sorrow. 
Oh,  bitter  is  the  sorrow  to  a conscientious  heart,  when,  too 
late,  it  discovers  the  depth  of  a love  that  has  been  trampled  1C 
under  foot ! This  mariner  had  slain  the  creature  that,  on  all 
the  earth,  loved  him  best.  In  the  darkness  of  his  cruel 
superstition  he  had  done  it,  to  save  his  human  brothers 
from  a fancied  inconvenience0 ; and  yet,  by  that  very  act  of 
cruelty,  he  had  himself  called  destruction  upon  their  heads.  15 
The  Nemesis0  that  followed  punished  him  through  them  — 
him  that  wronged  through  those  that  wrongfully  he  sought 
to  benefit.  That  spirit  who  watches  over  the  sanctities  of 
love  is  a strong  angel — is  a jealous  angel;  and  this  angel  it 
was  2 a 

“ That  loved  the  bird  that  loved  the  man 
That  shot  him  with  his  bow.”  ° 

He  it  was  that  followed  the  cruel  archer  into  silent  and 
slumbering  seas : — 

“ Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  him,  25 

Through  the  realms  of  mist  and  snow.”  ° 

This  jealous  angel  it  was  that  pursued  the  man  into  noonday 
darkness  and  the  vision  of  dying  oceans,  into  delirium,  and 
finally  (when  recovered  from  disease)  into  an  unsettled 
mind.  30 

Not  altogether  unlike,  though  free  from  the  criminal 


140  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


intention  of  the  mariner,  had  been  the  offence  of  Kate ; not 
unlike,  also,  was  the  punishment  that  now  is  dogging  her 
steps.  She,  like  the  mariner,  had  slain  the  one  sole  creature 
that  loved  her  upon  the  whole  wide  earth;  she,  like  the 
5 mariner,  for  this  offence,  had  been  hunted  into  frost  and 
snow  — very  soon  will  be  hunted  into  delirium ; and  from 
that  (if  she  escapes  with  life)  will  be  hunted  into  the  trouble 
of  a heart  that  cannot  rest.  There  was  the  excuse  of  one 
darkness,  physical  darkness,  for  her;  there  was  the  excuse 
10  of  another  darkness,  the  darkness  of  superstition,  for  the 
mariner.  But,  with  all  the  excuses  that  earth,  and  the 
darkness  of  earth,  can  furnish,  bitter  it  would  be  for  any  of  us, 
reader,  through  every  hour  of  life,  waking  or  dreaming,  to 
look  back  upon  one  fatal  moment  when  we  had  pierced  the 
15  heart  that  would  have  died  for  us.  In  this  only  the  dark- 
ness had  been  merciful  to  Kate — that  it  had  hidden  for  ever 
from  her  victim  the  hand  that  slew  him.  But  now,  in  such 
utter  solitude,  her  thoughts  ran  back  to  their  earliest  inter- 
view. She  remembered  with  anguish  how,  on  touching  the 
20  shores  of  America,  almost  the  first  word  that  met  her  ear  had 
been  from  him , the  brother  whom  she  had  killed,  about  the 
“ pussy ” of  times  long  past;  how  the  gallant  young  man 
had  hung  upon  her  words,  as  in  her  native  Basque0  she  de- 
scribed her  own  mischievous  little  self,  of  twelve  years  back ; 
25  how  his  colour  went  and  came  whilst  his  loving  memory  of 
the  little  sister  was  revived  by  her  own  descriptive  traits, 
giving  back,  as  in  a mirror,  the  fawn-like  grace,  the  squirrel- 
like restlessness,  that  once  had  kindled  his  own  delighted 
laughter;  how  he  would  take  no  denial,  but  showed  on  the 
30  spot  that  simply  to  have  touched — to  have  kissed — -to  have 
played  with  — the  little  wild  thing  that  glorified  by  her  inno- 
cence the  gloom  of  St.  Sebastian's  cloisters,  gave  a right  to 
his  hospitality;  how  through  him  only  she  had  found  a wel- 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


141 


come  in  camps;  how  through  him  she  had  found  the  avenue 
to  honour  and  distinction.  And  yet  this  brother,  so  loving 
and  generous,  who,  without  knowing,  had  cherished  and  pro- 
tected her,  and  all  from  pure  holy  love  for  herself  as  the 
innocent  plaything  of  St.  Sebastian’s,  him  in  a moment  she  5 
had  dismissed  from  life.  She  paused ; she  turned  round,  as 
if  looking  back  for  his  grave ; she  saw  the  dreadful  wilder- 
nesses of  snow  which  already  she  had  traversed.  Silent  they 
were  at  this  season,  even  as  in  the  panting  heats  of  noon  the 
Saharas  of  the  torrid  zone  are  oftentimes  silent.  Dreadful  10 
was  the  silence ; it  was  the  nearest  thing  to  the  silence  of  the 
grave.  Graves  were  at  the  foot  of  the  Andes,  — that  she  knew 
too  well ; graves  were  at  the  summit  of  the  Andes,  — that  she 
saw  too  well.  And,  as  she  gazed,  a sudden  thought  flashed 
upon  her,  when  her  eyes  settled  upon  the  corpses  of  the  poor  15 
deserters,  — Could  she,  like  them , have  been  all  this  while 
unconsciously  executing  judgment  upon  herself?  Running 
from  a wrath  that  was  doubtful,  into  the  very  jaws  of  a wrath 
that  was  inexorable  ? Flying  in  panic  — and  behold  ! there 
was  no  man  that  pursued0?  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  20 
Kate  trembled.  Not  for  the  first  time,  Kate  wept.°  Far  less 
for  the  first  time  was  it  that  Kate  bent  her  knee  — that  Kate 
clasped  her  hands — that  Kate  prayed.  Rut  it  was  the  first 
time  that  she  prayed  as  they  pray  for  whom  no  more  hope 
is  left  but  in  prayer.  25 

Here  let  me  pause  a moment,  for  the  sake  of  making 
somebody  angry.  A Frenchman0  who  sadly  misjudges 
Kate,  looking  at  her  through  a Parisian  opera-glass,  gives 
it  as  his  opinion0  that,  because  Kate  first  records  her  prayer 
on  this  occasion,  therefore  now  first  of  all  she  prayed.  / 3G 
think  not  so.  I love  this  Kate,  bloodstained  as  she  is; 
and  I could  not  love  a woman  that  never  bent  her  knee  in 
thankfulness  or  in  supplication.  However,  we  have  all  a 


142  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


to  our  own  little  opinion;  and  it  is  not  you , “mon 
cher”°  you  Frenchman,  that  I am  angry  with,  but  somebody 
e«se  that  stands  behind  you.  You,  Frenchman,  and  your 
compatriots,  I love  oftentimes  for  your  festal  gaiety  of  heart0 ; 

5 and  I quarrel  only  with  your  levity,  and  that  eternal  world- 
iiness  that  freezes  too  fiercely — that  absolutely  blisters  with 
its  frost,  like  the  upper  air  of  the  Andes.  You  speak  of 
Kate  only  as  too  readily  you  speak  of  all  women ; the  instinct 
of  a natural  scepticism  being  to  scoff  at  all  hidden  depths  of 
10 truth.  Else  you  are  civil  enough  to  Kate;  and  your  “hom- 
age” (such  as  it  may  happen  to  be)  is  always  at  the  service 
of  a woman  on  the  shortest  notice.  But  behind  you  I 
see  a worse  fellow  — a gloomy  fanatic,  a religious  syco- 
phant, that  seeks  to  propitiate  his  circle  by  bitterness  against 
/5  the  offences  that  are  most  unlike  his  own.  And  against  him 
I must  say  one  word  for  Kate  to  the  too  hasty  reader.  This 
villain  opens  his  fire  on  our  Kate  under  shelter  of  a lie. 
For  there  is  a standing  lie  in  the  very  constitution  of  civil 
society  — a necessity  of  error,  misleading  us  as  to  the  propor- 
20  tions  of  crime.  Mere  necessity  obliges  man  to  create  many 
acts  into  felonies,  and  to  punish  them  as  the  heaviest  offences, 
which  his  better  sense  teaches  him  secretly  to  regard  as  per- 
haps among  the  lightest.  Those  poor  mutineers  or  deserters, 
for  instance,  were  they  necessarily  without  excuse  ? They 
25  might  have  been  oppressively  used ; but,  in  critical  times  of 
war,  no  matter  for  the  individual  palliations,  the  mutineer 
must  be  shot : there  is  no  help  for  it,  — as,-  in  extremities  of 
general  famine,  we  shoot  the  man  (alas ! we  are  obliged  to 
shoot  him)  that  is  found  robbing  the  common  stores  in  order 
30  to  feed  his  own  perishing  children,  though  the  offence  is 
hardly  visible  in  the  sight  of  God.°  Only  blockheads  adjust 
their  scale  of  guilt  to  the  scale  of  human  punishments.  Now, 
our  wicked  friend  the  fanatic,  who  calumniates  Kate,  abuses 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


143 


the  advantage  which,  for  such  a purpose,  he  derives  from 
the  exaggerated  social  estimate  of  all  violence.  Personal 
security  being  so  main  an  object  of  social  union,  we  are 
obliged  to  frown  upon  all  modes  of  violence,  as  hostile  to  the 
central  principle  of  that  union.  We  are  obliged  to  rate  it  5 
according  to  the  universal  results  towards  which  it  tends, 
and  scarcely  at  all  according  to  the  special  condition  of  cir- 
cumstances in  which  it  may  originate.  Hence  a horror 
arises  for  that  class  of  offences,  which  is  (philosophically 
speaking)  exaggerated ; and,  by  daily  use,  the  ethics  of  a 10 
police-office  translate  themselves  insensibly  into  the  ethics 
even  of  religious  people.  But  I tell  that  sycophantish  fanatic 
— not  this  only,  viz.  that  he  abuses  unfairly  against  Kate  the 
advantage  which  he  has  from  the  inevitably  distorted  bias 
of  society ; but  also  I tell  him  this  second  little  thing,  — 15 
that,  upon  turning  away  the  glass  from  that  one  obvious 
aspect  of  Kate’s  character,  her  too  fiery  disposition  to  vindi- 
cate all  rights  by  violence,  and  viewing  her  in  relation  to 
general  religious  capacities,  she  was  a thousand  times  more 
promisingly  endowed  than  himself.  It  is  impossible  to  be  20 
noble  in  many  things  without  having  many  points  of  contact 
with  true  religion.  If  you  deny  that,  you  it  is  that  calum- 
niate religion.  Kate  was  noble  in  many  things.  Her  worst 
errors  never  took  a shape  of  self-interest  or  deceit.  She  was 
brave,  she  was  generous,  she  was  forgiving,  she  bore  no  25 
malice,  she  was  full  of  truth  — qualities  that  God  loves  either 
in  man  or  woman.  She  hated  sycophants  and  dissemblers, 

I hate  them;  and  more  than  ever  at  this  moment  on  her 
behalf.  I wish  she  were  but  here,  to  give  a punch  on  the 
head  to  that  fellow  who  traduces  her.  And,  coming  round  30 
again  to  the  occasion  from  which  this  short  digression  has 
started — viz.  the  question  raised  by  the  Frenchman,  whether 
Kate  were  a person  likely  to  pray  under  other  circumstances 


144  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


than  those  of  extreme  danger  — I offer  it  as  my  opinion  tha\ 
she  was.  Violent  people  are  not  always  such  from  choice, 
but  perhaps  from  situation.  And,  though  the  circumstances 
of  Kate’s  position  allowed  her  little  means  for  realising  her 
5 own  wishes,  it  is  certain  that  those  wishes  pointed  continually 
to  peace  and  an  unworldly  happiness,  if  that  were  possible. 
The  stormy  clouds  that  enveloped  her  in  camps  opened  over- 
head at  intervals,  showing  her  a far-distant  blue  serene.0 
She  yearned,  at  many  times,  for  the  rest  which  is  not  in 
10  camps  or  armies ; and  it  is  certain  that  she  ever  combined 
with  any  plans  or  day-dreams  of  tranquillity,  as  their  most 
essential  ally,  some  aid  derived  from  that  dove-like  religion 
which,  at  St.  Sebastian’s,  from  her  infant  days,  she  had  been 
taught  so  profoundly  to  adore. 

18.  — Kate  begins  to  descend  the  Mighty  Staircase. 

15  Now,  let  us  rise  from  this  discussion  of  Kate  against 
libellers,  as  Kate  herself  is  rising  from  prayer,  and  consider, 
in  conjunction  with  her , the  character  and  promise  of  that 
dreadful  ground  which  lies  immediately  before  her.  What 
is  to  be  thought  of  it?  I could  wish  we  had  a theodolite 
20  here,  and  a spirit-level,  and  other  instruments,  for  settling 
some  important  questions.  Yet,  no : on  consideration,  if 
one  had  a wish  allowed  by  that  kind  fairy  without  whose 
assistance  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  send  even  for  the 
spirit-level,  nobody  would  throw  away  the  wish  upon  things 
25  so  paltry.  I would  not  put  the  fairy  upon  such  an  errand : 
I would  order  the  good  creature  to  bring  no  spirit-level,  but 
a stiff  glass  of  spirits  for  Kate;  also,  next  after  which,  I 
would  request  a palanquin,  and  relays  of  fifty  stout  bearers 
— all  drunk,  in  order  that  they  might  not  feel  the  cold. 
30  The  main  interest  at  this  moment,  and  the  main  difficulty  — 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


145 


indeed,  the  “ open  question”  of  the  case  — was,  to  ascertain 
whether  the  ascent  were  yet  accomplished  or  not,  and  when 
would  the  descent  commence  ? or  had  it,  perhaps,  long  com- 
menced? The  character  of  the  ground,  in  those  immediate 
successions  that  could  be  connected  by  the  eye,  decided  5 
nothing;  for  the  undulations  of  the  level  had  been  so  con- 
tinual for  miles  as  to  perplex  any  eye,  even  an  engineer’s,  in 
attempting  to  judge  whether,  upon  the  whole,  the  tendency 
were  upwards  or  downwards.  Possibly  it  was  yet  neither 
way.  It  is  indeed  probable  that  Kate  had  been  for  some  10 
time  travelling  along  a series  of  terraces  that  traversed  the 
whole  breadth  of  the  topmost  area  at  that  point  of  crossing 
the  Cordilleras;  and  this  area,  perhaps,  but  not  certainly, 
might  compensate  any  casual  tendencies  downwards  by 
corresponding  reascents.  Then  came  the  question,  how  long  15 
would  these  terraces  yet  continue?  and  had  the  ascending 
parts  really  balanced  the  descending?  Upon  that  seemed  to 
rest  the  final  chance  for  Kate.  Because,  unless  she  very 
soon  reached  a lower  level  and  a warmer  atmosphere,  mere 
weariness  would  oblige  her  to  lie  down,  under  a fierceness  of  20 
cold  that  would  not  suffer  her  to  rise  after  once  losing  the 
warmth  of  motion ; or,  inversely,  if  she  even  continued  in 
motion,  continued  extremity  of  cold  would,  of  itself,  speedily 
absorb  the  little  surplus  energy  for  moving  which  yet  re- 
mained unexhausted  by  weariness : that  is,  in  short,  the  25 
excessive  weariness  would  give  a murderous  advantage  to  the 
cold,  or  the  excessive  cold  would  give  a corresponding 
advantage  to  the  weariness. 

At  this  stage  of  her  progress,  and  whilst  the  agonising 
question  seemed  yet  as  indeterminate  as  ever,  Kate’s  struggle  30 
with  despair,  which  had  been  greatly  soothed  by  the  fervour 
of  her  prayer,  revolved  upon  her  in  deadlier  blackness.  All 
turned,  she  saw,  upon  a race  against  time  and  the  arrears  of 


I4H  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


the  road°;  and  she,  poor  thing!  how  little  qualified  could 
o he  be,  in  such  a condition,  for  a race  of  any  kind  — and 
against  two  such  obstinate  brutes  as  Time  and  Space ! This 
hour  of  the  progress,  this  noontide  of  Kate's  struggle,  must 
5 have  been  the  very  crisis  of  the  whole.  Despair  was  rapidly 
tending  to  ratify  itself.  Hope,  in  any  degree,  would  be  a 
cordial  for  sustaining  her  efforts.  But  to  flounder  along 
a dreadful  chaos  of  snow-drifts,  or  snow-chasms,  towards  a 
point  of  rock  which,  being  turned,  should  expose  only 
10  another  interminable  succession  of  the  same  character — 
might  that  be  endured  by  ebbing  spirits,  by  stiffening  limbs, 
by  the  ghastly  darkness  that  was  now  beginning  to  gather 
upon  the  inner  eye?  And,  if  once  despair  became  trium- 
phant, all  the  little  arrear  of  physical  strength  would  collapse 
15  at  once. 

Oh ! verdure  of  human  fields,  cottages  of  men  and  women 
(that  now  suddenly,  in  the  eyes  of  Kate,  seemed  all  brothers 
and  sisters),  cottages  with  children  around  them  at  play,  that 
are  so  far  below  — oh ! spring  and  summer,  blossoms  and 
20  flowers,  to  which,  as  to  his  symbols,  God  has  given  the 
gorgeous  privilege  of  rehearsing  for  ever  upon  earth  his  most 
mysterious  perfection — Life,  and  the  resurrections  of  Life0  — 
is  it  indeed  true  that  poor  Kate  must  never  see  you  more? 
Mutteringly  she  put  that  question  to  herself.  But  strange 
25  are  the  caprices  of  ebb  and  flow  in  the  deep  fountains  of 
human  sensibilities.  At  this  very  moment,  when  the  utter 
incapacitation  of  despair  was  gathering  fast  at  Kate’s  heart, 
a sudden  lightening,  as  it  were,  or  flashing  inspiration  of 
hope,  shot  far  into  her  spirit,  a reflux  almost  supernatural 
30  from  the  earliest  effects  of  her  prayer.  Dimmed  and  con- 
fused had  been  the  accuracy  of  her  sensations  for  hours ; but 
ail  at  once  a strong  conviction  came  over  her  that  more 
and  more  was  the  sense  of  descent  becoming  steady  and  con- 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


14  7 


tinuous.  Turning  round  to  measure  backwards  with  her  eye 
the  ground  traversed  through  the  last  half-hour,  she  identic 
fied,  by  a remarkable  point  of  rock,  the  spot  near  which  the 
three  corpses  were  lying.  The  silence  seemed  deeper  than 
ever.  Neither  was  there  any  phantom  memorial  of  life  for  5 
the  eye  or  for  the  ear,  nor  wing  of  bird,  nor  echo,  nor  green 
leaf,  nor  creeping  thing  that  moved  or  stirred,  upon  the 
soundless  waste.0  Oh,  what  a relief  to  this  burden  of  silence 
would  be  a human  groan ! Here  seemed  a motive  for  still 
darker  despair.  And  yet,  at  that  very  moment,  a pulse  ofiG 
joy  began  to  thaw  the  ice  at  her  heart.  It  struck  her,  as  she 
reviewed  the  ground  from  that  point  where  the  corpses  fay, 
that  undoubtedly  it  had  been  for  some  time  slowly  descend- 
ing. Her  senses  were  much  dulled  by  suffering;  but  this 
thought  it  was,  suggested  by  a sudden  apprehension  of  a con- 15 
tinued  descending  movement,  which  had  caused  her  to  turn 
round.  Sight  had  confirmed  the  suggestion  first  derived 
from  her  own  steps.  The  distance  attained  was  now  sufficient 
to  establish  the  tendency.  Oh,  yes,  yes;  to  a certainty  she 
was  descending  — she  had  been  descending  for  some  time.  20 
Frightful  was  the  spasm  of  joy  which  whispered  that  the 
worst  was  over.  It  was  as  when  the  shadow  of  midnight, 
that  murderers  had  relied  on,  is  passing  away  from  your  be- 
leaguered shelter,  and  dawn  will  soon  be  manifest.  It  was  as 
when  a flood,  that  all  day  long  has  raved  against  the  walls  25 
of  your  house,  ceases  (you  suddenly  think)  to  rise  ; yes  i 
measured  by  a golden  plummet,  it  is  sinking  beyond  cl. 
doubt,  and  the  darlings  of  your  household  are  saved.  Kate 
faced  round  in  agitation  to  her  proper  direction.  She  saw, 
what  previously,  in  her  stunning  confusion,  she  had  not  seen,  30 
that  hardly  two  stonethrows  in  advance  lay  a mass  of  rock, 
split  as  into  a gateway.  Through  that  opening  it  now 
became  certain  that  the  road  was  lying.  Hurrying  forward* 


148  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QU1NCEY 


she  passed  within  these  natural  gates.  Gates  of  paradise 
they  were.  Ah,  what  a vista  did  that  gateway  expose  before 
her  dazzled  eye!  what  a revelation  of  heavenly  promise! 
Full  two  miles  long,  stretched  a long  narrow  glen,  every 
5 where  descending,  and  in  many  parts  rapidly.  All  was  now 
placed  beyond  a doubt.  She  was  descending,  — for  hours, 
perhaps,  had  been  descending  insensibly,  — the  mighty  stair- 
case. Yes,  Kate  is  leaving  behind  her  the  kingdom  of  frost 
and  the  victories  of  death.  Two  miles  farther,  there  may  be 
>0  rest,  if  there  is  not  shelter.  And  very  soon,  as  the  crest  of 
her  new-born  happiness,  she  distinguished  at  the  other  end 
of  that  rocky  vista  a pavilion-shaped  mass  of  dark  green 
foliage  — - a belt  of  trees,  such  as  we  see  in  the  lovely  parks  of 
England,  but  islanded  by  a screen  of  thick  bushy  under- 
15  growth  ! Oh  ! verdure  of  dark  olive  foliage,  offered  suddenly 
to  fainting  eyes,  as  if  by  some  winged  patriarchal  herald  of 
wrath  relenting0  — solitary  Arab’s  tent,  rising  with  saintly 
signals  of  peace  in  the  dreadful  desert  — must  Kate  indeed 
die  even  yet,  whilst  she  sees  but  cannot  reach  you  ? Outpost 
20  on  the  frontier  of  man’s  dominions,  standing  within  life,  but 
looking  out  upon  everlasting  death,  wilt  thou  hold  up  the 
anguish  of  thy  mocking  invitation  only  to  betray?  Never, 
perhaps,  in  this  world  was  the  line  so  exquisitely  grazed  that 
parts  salvation  and  ruin.  As  the  dove  to  her  dovecot  from 
25  the  swooping  hawk  — as  the  Christian  pinnace  to  the  shelter 
of  Christian  batteries  from  the  bloody  Mahometan  corsair0 - 
so  flew,  so  tried  to  fly,  towards  the  anchoring  thickets,  that, 
alas  ! could  not  weigh  their  anchors,  and  make  sail  to  meet  her, 
the  poor  exhausted  Kate  from  the  vengeance  of  pursuing  frost. 
30  And  she  reached  them ; staggering,  fainting,  reeling,  she 
entered  beneath  the  canopy  of  umbrageous  trees.  But,  as 
oftentimes  the  Hebrew  fugitive  to  a city  of  refuge,0  flying  for 
his  life  before  the  avenger  of  blood,  was  pressed  so  hotly  that, 

4 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


149 


on  entering  the  archway  of  what  seemed  to  him  the  heavenly 
city  gate,  as  he  kneeled  in  deep  thankfulness  to  kiss  its  holy 
merciful  shadow,  he  could  not  rise  again,  but  sank  instantly 
with  infant  weakness  into  sleep  — sometimes  to  wake  no  more ; 
so  sank,  so  collapsed  upon  the  ground,  without  power  to  choose 
her  couch,  and  with  little  prospect  of  ever  rising  again  to  her 
feet,  the  martial  nun.  She  lay  as  luck  had  ordered  it,  with 
her  head  screened  by  the  undergrowth  of  bushes  from  any 
gales  that  might  arise ; she  lay  exactly  as  she  sank,  with  her 
eyes  up  to  heaven ; and  thus  it  was  that  the  nun  saw,  before 
falling  asleep,  the  two  sights  that  upon  earth  are  the  fittest 
for  the  closing  eyes  of  a nun,  whether  destined  to  open  again 
or  to  close  for  ever.  She  saw  the  interlacing  of  boughs  over- 
head forming  a dome  that  seemed  like  the  dome  of  a cathe- 
dral. She  saw,  through  the  fretwork  of  the  foliage,  another 
dome,  far  beyond  the  dome  of  an  evening  sky,  the  dome  of 
some  heavenly  cathedral,  not  built  with  hands.0  She  saw 
upon  this  upper  dome  the  vesper  lights,  all  alive  with  pathetic 
grandeur  of  colouring  from  a sunset  that  had  just  been  roll- 
ing down  like  a chorus.  She  had  not  till  now  consciously 
observed  the  time  of  day  ; whether  it  were  morning,  or 
whether  it  were  afternoon,  in  the  confusion  of  her  misery, 
she  had  not  distinctly  known.  But  now  she  whispered  to 
herself,  11  It  is  evening” ; and  what  lurked  half  unconsciously 
in  these  words  might  be,  “The  sun,  that  rejoices,0  has 
finished  his  daily  toil;  man,  that  labours,  has  finished  his; 
I,  that  suffer,  have  finished  mine.”  That  might  be  what  she 
thought;  but  what  she  said  was  “It  is  evening;  and  the 
hour  is  come  when  the  Angelas0  is  sounding  through  St. 
Sebastian.”  What  made  her  think  of  St.  Sebastian,  so  far 
away  in  the  depth  of  space  and  time?  Her  brain  was 
wandering,  now  that  her  feet  were  not ; and,  because  her 
eyes  had  descended  from  the  heavenly  to  the  earthly  dome, 


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150  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


that  made  her  think  of  earthly  cathedrals,  and  of  cathedral 
choirs,  and  of  St.  Sebastian's  chapel,  with  its  silvery  bells 
that  carried  the  echoing  Angelus  far  into  mountain  recesses. 
Perhaps,  as  her  wanderings  increased,  she  thought  herself 
5 back  into  childhood;  became  “ pussy"  once  again;  fancied 
that  all  since  then  was  a frightful  dream ; that  she  was  not 
upon  the  dreadful  Andes,  but  still  kneeling  in  the  holy 
chapel  at  vespers;  still  innocent  as  then;  loved  as  then  she 
had  been  loved;  and  that  all  men  were  liars  who  said  her 
10  hand  was  ever  stained  with  blood.  Little  is  mentioned  of 
the  delusions  which  possessed  her° ; but  that  little  gives  a 
key  to  the  impulse  which  her  palpitating  heart  obeyed,  and 
which  her  rambling  brain  for  ever  reproduced  in  multiplying 
mirrors.  Restlessness  kept  her  in  waking  dreams  for  a brief 
15  half-hour.  But  then  fever  and  delirium  would  wait  no 
longer;  the  killing  exhaustion  would  no  longer  be  refused; 
the  fever,  the  delirium,  and  the  exhaustion,  swept  in  together 
with  power  like  an  army  with  banners0 ; and  the  nun  ceased 
through  the  gathering  twilight  any  more  to  watch  the 
20  cathedrals  of  earth,  or  the  more  solemn  cathedrals  that  rose 
in  the  heavens  above. 


19.  — Kate's  Bedroom  is  invaded  by  Horsemen. 

All  night  long  she  slept  in  her  verdurous  St.  Bernard's 
hospice0  without  awaking ; and  whether  she  would  ever  awake 
seemed  to  depend  upon  accident.  The  slumber  that  towered 
25  above  her  brain  was  like  that  fluctuating  silvery  column 
which  stands  in  scientific  tubes,  sinking,  rising,  deepening, 
lightening,  contracting,  expanding;  or  like  the  mist  that  sits, 
through  sultry  afternoons,  upon  the  river  of  the  American 
St.  Peter,  sometimes  rarefying  for  minutes  into  sunny  gauze, 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


151 


sometimes  condensing  for  hours  into  palls  of  funeral  dark- 
ness.0 You  fancy  that,  after  twelve  hours  of  any  sleep,  she 
must  have  been  refreshed ; better,  at  least,  than  she  was  last 
night.  Ah ! but  sleep  is  not  always  sent  upon  missions 
of  refreshment.  Sleep  is  sometimes  the  secret  chamber  in 
which  death  arranges  his  machinery,  and  stations  his  artillery. 
Sleep  is  sometimes  that  deep  mysterious  atmosphere  in  which 
the  human  spirit  is  slowly  unsettling  its  wings  for  flight  from 
earthly  tenements.  It  is  now  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning: 
and,  to  all  appearance,  if  Kate  should  receive  no  aid  before 
noon,  when  next  the  sun  is  departing  to  his  rest,  then,  alas ! 
Kate  will  be  departing  to  hers  : when  next  the  sun  is  holding 
out  his  golden  Christian  signal  to  man  that  the  hour  is  come 
for.  letting  his  anger  go  down,0  Kate  will  be  sleeping  away  for 
ever  into  the  arms  of  brotherly  forgiveness. 

What  is  wanted  just  now  for  Kate,  supposing  Kate  herself 
to  be  wanted  by  this  world,  is  that  this  world  would  be  kind 
enough  to  send  her  a little  brandy  before  it  is  too  late.  The 
simple  truth  was,  and  a truth  which  I have  known  to  take 
place  in  more  ladies  than  Kate,  — who  died  or  did  not  die, 
accordingly  as  they  had  or  had  not  an  adviser  like  myself, 
capable  of  giving  an  opinion  equal  to  Captain  Bunsby's0  on 
this  point — viz.  whether  the  jewelly  star  of  life  had  descended 
too  far  down  the  arch  towards  setting  for  any  chance  of 
reascending  by  spontaneous  effort.  The  fire  was  still  burning 
in  secret,  but  needed,  perhaps,  to  be  rekindled  by  potent 
artificial  breath.  It  lingered,  and  might  linger,  but  appar- 
ently would  never  culminate  again  without  some  stimulus 
from  earthly  vineyards.0  Kate  was  ever  lucky,  though  ever 
unfortunate ; and  the  world,  being  of  my  opinion  that  Kate 
was  worth  saving,  made  up  its  mind  about  half-past  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  save  her.  Just  at  that  time,  when 
the  night  was  over,  and  its  sufferings  were  hidden — in  one 


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152  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


of  those  intermitting  gleams  that  for  a moment  or  two 
lightened  the  clouds  of  her  slumber  — Kate’s  dull  ear  caught 
a sound  that  for  years  had  spoken  a familiar  language  to 
her . What  was  it?  It  was  the  sound,  though  muffled  and 
5 deadened,  like  the  ear  that  heard  it,  of  horsemen  advancing 
Interpreted  by  the  tumultuous  dreams  of  Kate,  was  it  the 
cavalry  of  Spain,  at  whose  head  so  often  she  had  charged  the 
bloody  Indian  scalpers?  Was  it,  according  to  the  legend  of 
ancient  days,0  cavalry  that  had  been  sown  by  her  brother’s 
10  blood — cavalry  that  rose  from  the  ground  on  an  inquest  of 
retribution,  and  were  racing  up  the  Andes  to  seize  her? 
Her  dreams,  that  had  opened  sullenly  to  the  sound,  waited 
for  no  answer,  but  closed  again  into  pompous  darkness. 
Happily,  the  horsemen  had  caught  the  glimpse  of  some  bright 
15  ornament,  clasp  or  aiguillette,  on  Kate’s  dress.  They  were 
hunters  and  foresters  from  below — servants  in  the  household 
of  a beneficent  lady — and,  in  pursuit  of  some  flying  game, 
had  wandered  far  beyond  their  ordinary  limits.  Struck  by 
the  sudden  scintillation  from  Kate ’s  dress  played  upon  by  the 
20  morning  sun,  they  rode  up  to  the  thicket.  Great  was  their 
surprise,  great  their  pity,  to  see  a young  officer  in  uniform 
stretched  within  the  bushes  upon  the  ground,  and  apparently 
dying.  Borderers  from  childhood  on  this  dreadful  frontier, 
sacred  to  winter  and  death,  they  understood  the  case  at  once. 
25  They  dismounted,  and,  with  the  tenderness  of  women,  raising 
the  poor  frozen  cornet  in  their  arms,  washed  her  temples 
with  brandy,  whilst  one,  at  intervals,  suffered  a few  drops  to 
trickle  within  her  lips.  As  the  restoration  of  a warm  bed 
was  now  most  likely  to  be  the  one  thing  needed,  they  lifted 
30  the  helpless  stranger  upon  a horse,  walking  on  each  side  with 
supporting  arms.  Once  again  our  Kate  is  in  the  saddle,  once 
again  a Spanish  caballero.0  But  Kate’s  bridle-hand  is  deadly 
cold.  And  her  spurs,  that  she  had  never  unfastened  since 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


153 


leaving  the  monastic  asylum,  hung  as  idle  as  the  flapping  sail 
that  fills  unsteadily  with  the  breeze  upon  a stranded  ship,, 

This  procession  had  many  miles  to  go,  and  over  difficult 
ground;  but  at  length  it  reached  the  forest-like  park  and  the 
chateau  of  the  wealthy  proprietress.  Kate  was  still  half-t 
frozen,  and  speechless,  except  at  intervals.  Heavens ! can 
this  corpse-like,  languishing  young  woman  be  the  Kate  that 
once,  in  her  radiant  girlhood,  rode  with  a handful  of  com- 
rades into  a column  of  two  thousand  enemies,  that  saw  her 
comrades  die,  that  persisted  when  all  were  dead,  that  tore  1C 
from  the  heart  of  all  resistance  the  banner  of  her  native 
Spain  ? Chance  and  change  have  “ written  strange  defeatures 
in  her  face.”0  Much  is  changed;  but  some  things  are  not 
changed,  either  in  herself  or  in  those  about  her : there  is 
still  kindness  that  overflows  with  pity ; there  is  still  helpless- 15 
ness  that  asks  for  this  pity  without  a voice : she  is  now  re- 
ceived by  a senora  not  less  kind  than  that  maternal  aunt  who, 
on  the  night  of  her  birth,  first  welcomed  her  to  a loving  home ; 
and  she,  the  heroine  of  Spain,  is  herself  as  helpless  now  as 
that  little  lady  who,  then  at  ten  minutes  of  age,  was  kissed  20 
and  blessed  by  all  the  household  of  St.  Sebastian.0 

20.  — A Second  Lull  in  Kate’s  Stormy  Life. 

Let  us  suppose  Kate  placed  in  a warm  bed.  Let  us  sup- 
pose her  in  a few  hours  recovering  steady  consciousness;  in 
a few  days  recovering  some  power  of  self-support ; in  a fort- 
night able  to  seek  the  gay  saloon  where  the  senora  was  sitting  25 
alone,  and  able  to  render  thanks,  with  that  deep  sincerity 
which  ever  characterised  our  wild-heaited  Kate,  for  the 
critical  services  received  from  that  lady  and  her  establish- 
ment. 

This  lady,  a widow,  was  what  the  French  call  a metisse,  the  sc 


154  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCEY 


Spaniards  a mestizza  — that  is,  the  daughter  of  a genuine 
Spaniard  and  an  Indian  mother.  I will  call  her  simply  a 
Creole ,°  which  will  indicate  her  want  of  pure  Spanish  blood 
sufficiently  to  explain  her  deference  for  those  who  had  it. 

5 She  was  a kind,  liberal  woman ; rich  rather  more  than 
needed  where  there  were  no  opera-boxes  to  rent;  a widow 
about  fifty  years  old  in  the  wicked  world’s  account,  some 
forty-two  in  her  own;  and  happy,  above  all,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a most  lovely  daughter,  whom  even  the  wicked  world 
10  did  not  accuse  of  more  than  sixteen  years.  This  daughter, 
Juana,  was  — But  stop  — let  her  open  the  door  of  the 
saloon  in  which  the  senora  and  the  cornet  are  conversing, 
and  speak  for  herself.  She  did  so,  after  an  hour  had  passed ; 
which  length  of  time,  to  her  that  never  had  any  business 
15  whatever  in  her  innocent  life,  seemed  sufficient  to  settle  the 
business  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New.  Had  Pietro  Diaz 
(as  Catalina  now  called  herself)  been  really  a Peter,  and  not 
a sham  Peter,  what  a vision  of  loveliness  would  have  rushed 
upon  his  sensibilities  as  the  door  opened.  Do  not  expect  me 
20 to  describe  her;  for  which,  however,  there  are  materials 
extant,0  sleeping  in  archives  where  they  have  slept  for  two 
hundred  and  twenty-eight  years.0  It  is  enough  that  she  is 
reported  to  have  united  the  stately  tread  of  Andalusian 
women  with  the  innocent  voluptuousness  of  Peruvian  eyes. 
25  As  to  her  complexion  and  figure,  be  it  known  that  Juana’s 
father  was  a gentleman  from  Grenada,0  having  in  his  veins 
the  grandest  blood  of  all  this  earth  — blood  of  Goths  and 
Vandals,  tainted  (for  which  Heaven  be  thanked  !)  twice  over 
with  blood  of  Arabs0  — once  through  Moors,  once  through 
30  Jews0;  whilst  from  her  grandmother  Juana  drew  the  deep 
subtle  melancholy,  and  the  beautiful  contours  of  limb,  which 
belonged  to  the  Indian  race  — a race  destined  (ah,  where- 
fore?) silently  and  slowly  to  fade  away  from  the  earth.  No 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


155 


awkwardness  was  or  could  be  in  this  antelope,  when  gliding 
with  forest  grace  into  the  room ; no  town-bred  shame ; noth- 
ing but  the  unaffected  pleasure  of  one  who  wishes  to  speak  a 
fervent  welcome,  but  knows  not  if  she  ought;  the  astonish- 
ment of  a Miranda,  bred  in  utter  solitude,  when  first  behold-  5 
ing  a princely  Ferdinand0;  and  just  so  much  reserve  as  to 
remind  you  that,  if  Catalina  thought  fit  to  dissemble  her  sex, 
?he  did  not . And  consider,  reader,  if  you  look  back,  and  are 
a great  arithmetician,  that,  whilst  the  senora  had  only  fifty 
per  cent  of  Spanish  blood,  Juana  had  seventy-five ; so  that  10 
her  Indian  melancholy,  after  all,  was  swallowed  up  for  the 
present  by  her  Visigothic,  by  her  Vandal,  by  her  Arab,  by  her 
Spanish,  fire. 

Catalina,  seared  as  she  was  by  the  world,  has  left  it  evident 
in  her  memoirs  that  she  was  touched  more  than  she  wished  to  15 
be  by  this  innocent  child.0  Juana  formed  a brief  lull  for 
Catalina  in  her  too  stormy  existence.  And,  if  for  her  in  this 
life  the  sweet  reality  of  a sister  had  been  possible,  here  was 
the  sister  she  would  have  chosen.  On  the  other  hand,  what 
might  Juana  think  of  the  cornet  ? To  have  been  thrown  upon  20 
the  kind  hospitalities  r£  her  native  home,  to  have  been  res- 
cued by  her  mother’s  servants  from  that  fearful  death  which, 
lying  but  a few  miles  off,  had  filled  her  nursery  with  tra- 
ditionary tragedies  — - that  was  sufficient  to  create  an  interest 
in  the  stranger.  Such  things  it  had  been  that  wooed  the  25 
heavenly  Desdemona.0  But  his  bold  martial  demeanour, 
his  yet  youthful  style  of  beauty,  his  frank  manners,  his  ani- 
mated conversation,  that  reported  a hundred  contests  with 
suffering  and  peril,  wakened  for  the  first  time  her  admiration. 
Men  she  had  never  seen  before,  except  menial  servants,  or  a 3d 
casual  priest.  But  here  was  a gentleman,  young  like  herself, 
a splendid  cavalier,  that  rode  in  the  cavalry  of  Spain;  that 
carried  the  banner  of  the  only  potentate  whom  Peruvians0 


156  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUIN  GET 


knew  of  — the  King  of  the  Spains  and  the  Indies;  that  had 
doubled  Cape  Horn;  that  had  crossed  the  Andes;  that  had 
suffered  shipwreck;  that  had  rocked  upon  fifty  storms,  and 
had  wrestled  for  life  through  fifty  battles. 

5 The  reader  already  guesses  all  that  followed.  The  sisterly 
love  which  Catalina  did  really  feel  for  this  young  mountaineer 
was  inevitably  misconstrued.  Embarrassed,  but  not  able, 
from  sincere  affection,  or  almost  in  bare  propriety,  to  refuse 
such  expressions  of  feeling  as  corresponded  to  the  artless  and 
10  involuntary  kindnesses  of  the  ingenuous  Juana,  one  day  the 
cornet  was  surprised  by  mamma  in  the  act  of  encircling  her 
daughter’s  waist  with  his  martial  arm,  although  waltzing 
was  premature  by  at  least  two  centuries0  in  Peru.  She  taxed 
him  instantly  with  dishonourably  abusing  her  confidence. 
15  The  cornet  made  but  a bad  defence.  He  muttered  some- 
thing about  “fraternal  affection”  about  “esteem,”  and  a 
great  deal  of  metaphysical  words  that  are  destined  to  remain 
untranslated  in  their  original  Spanish.  The  good  senora, 
though  she  could  boast  only  of  forty-two  years’  experience, 
20 or  say  forty-four,  was  not  altogether  to  be  “had”  in  that 
fashion : she  was  as  learned  as  if  she  had  been  fifty,  and  she 
brought  matters  to  a speedy  crisis.  :‘You  are  a Spaniard,” 
she  said,  “a  gentleman,  therefore;  remember  that  you  are  a 
gentleman.  This  very  night,  if  your  intentions  are  not 
25  serious,  quit  my  house.  Go  to  Tucuman0;  you  shall  com- 
mand my  horses  and  servants;  but  stay  no  longer  to  in- 
crease the  sorrow  that  already  you  will  have  left  behind  vou. 
My  daughter  loves  you.  That  is  sorrow  enough,  if  you  are 
trifling  with  us.  But,  if  not,  and  you  also  love  her , and  can 
30  be  happy  in  our  solitary  mode  of  life,  stay  with  us  — stay 
for  ever.  Marry  Juana  with  my  free  consent.  I ask  not  for 
wealth.  Mine  is  sufficient  for  you  both.”  The  cornet  pro- 
tested that  the  honour  was  one  never  contemplated  by  him 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


157 


— that  it  was  too  great  — that  — . But,  of  course,  reader, 
you  know  that  ugammon,,°  flourishes  in  Peru,  amongst  the 
silver  mines,  as  well  as  in  some  more  boreal  lands  that  produce 
little  better  than  copper  and  tin.  “Tin,”°  however,  has  its 
uses.  The  delighted  senora  overruled  all  objections,  great  5 
and  small ; and  she  confirmed  Juana’s  notion  that  the  busi- 
ness of  two  worlds  could  be  transacted  in  an  hour,  by  settling 
her  daughter’s  future  happiness  in  exactly  twenty  minutes. 
The  poor,  weak  Catalina,  not  acting  now  in  any  spirit  of  reck- 
lessness, grieving  sincerely  for  the  gulf  that  was  opening  10 
before  her,  and  yet  shrinking  effeminately  from  the  momen- 
tary shock  that  would  be  inflicted  by  a firm  adherence  to  her 
duty,  clinging  to  the  anodyne  of  a short  delay,  allowed  her- 
self to  be  installed  as  the  lover  of  Juana.  Considerations 
of  convenience,  however,  postponed  the  marriage.  It  was  15 
requisite  to  make  various  purchases ; and  for  this  it  was 
requisite  to  visit  Tucuman,  where  also  the  marriage  ceremony 
could  be  performed  with  more  circumstantial  splendour. 

To  Tucuman,  therefore,  after  some  weeks’  interval,  the  whole 
party  repaired.  And  at  Tucuman  it  was  that  the  tragical  20 
events  arose  which,  whilst  interrupting  such  a mockery  for 
ever,  left  the  poor  Juana  still  happily  deceived,  and  never 
believing  for  a moment  that  hers  was  a rejected  or  a deluded 
heart. 

One  reporter  of  Mr.  De  Ferrer’s  narrative0  forgets  his  usual  25 
generosity  wrhen  he  says  that  the  senora’s  gift  of  her  daughter 
to  the  Alferez  was  not  quite  so  disinterested  as  it  seemed  to 
be.°  Certainly  it  was  not  so  disinterested  as  European 
ignorance  might  fancy  it ; but  it  was  quite  as  much  so  as  it 
ought  to  have  been  in  balancing  the  interests  of  a child.  Very  30 
true  it  is,  that,  being  a genuine  Spaniard,  who  was  still  a rare 
creature  in  so  vast  a world  as  Peru  — being  a Spartan 
amongst  Helots0  — a Spanish  Alferez  would,  in  those  days, 


158  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCEY 


and  in  that  region,  have  been  a natural  noble.  His  alliance 
created  honour  for  his  wife  and  for  his  descendants.  Some- 
thing, therefore,  the  cornet  would  add  to  the  family  considera- 
tion. But,  instead  of  selfishness,  it  argued  just  regard  for 
5 her  daughter’s  interest  to  build  upon  this,  as  some  sort  of 
equipoise  to  the  wealth  which  her  daughter  would  bring. 

Spaniard,  however,  as  she  was,  our  Alferez,  on  reaching 
Tucuman,  found  no  Spaniards  to  mix  with,  but,  instead, 
twelve  Portuguese.0 

21. — Kate  once  more  in  Storms. 

10  Catalina  remembered  the  Spanish  proverb,  “Pump  out  of 
a Spaniard  all  his  good  qualities,  and  the  remainder  makes  a 
pretty  fair  Portuguese’'0;  but,  as  there  was  nobody  else  to 
gamble  with,  she  entered  freely  into  their  society.  Soon  she 
suspected  that  there  was  foul  play ; for  all  modes  of  doctor- 
15  ing  dice  had  been  made  familiar  to  her  by  the  experience  of 
camps.  She  watched ; and,  by  the  time  she  had  lost  her 
final  coin,  she  was  satisfied  that  she  had  been  plundered.  In 
her  first  anger,  she  would  have  been  glad  to  switch  the  whole 
dozen  across  the  eyes;  but,  as  twelve  to  one  were  too  great 
20  odds,  she  determined  on  limiting  her  vengeance  to  the  imme- 
diate culprit.  Him  she  followed  into  the  street;  and,  coming 
near  enough  to  distinguish  his  profile  reflected  on  a wall,  she 
continued  to  keep  him  in  view  from  a short  distance.  The 
lighthearted  young  cavalier  whistled,  as  he  went,  an  old 
25  Portuguese  ballad  of  romance,  and  in  a quarter-of-an-hour 
came  up  to  a house,  the  front-door  of  which  he  began  to 
open  with  a pass-key.  This  operation  was  the  signal  for 
Catalina  that  the  hour  of  vengeance  had  struck ; and,  stepping 
up  hastily,  she  tapped  the  Portuguese  on  the  shoulder,  saying, 
30“Senor,  you  are  a robber!”  The  Portuguese  turned  coollv 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


159 


round,  and,  seeing  his  gaming  antagonist,  replied,  “ Possibly, 
sir;  but  I have  no  particular  fancy  for  being  told  so,”  at  the 
same  time  drawing  his  sword.  Catalina  had  not  designed  to 
take  any  advantage ; and  the  touching  him  on  the  shoulder, 
with  the  interchange  of  speeches,  and  the  known  character  of  5 
Kate,  sufficiently  imply  it.  But  it  is  too  probable,  in  such 
cases,  that  the  party  whose  intention  had  been  regularly 
settled  from  the  first  will,  and  must,  have  an  advantage 
unconsciously  over  a man  so  abruptly  thrown  on  his  defence. 
However  this  might  be,  they  had  not  fought  a minute  before  10 
Catalina  passed  her  sword  through  her  opponent's  body ; and, 
without  a groan  or  a sigh,  the  Portuguese  cavalier  fell  dead 
at  his  own  door.  Kate  searched  the  street  with  her  ears, 
and  (as  far  as  the  indistinctness  of  night  allowed)  with  her 
eyes.  All  was  profoundly  silent ; and  she  was  satisfied  that  15 
no  human  figure  was  in  motion.  What  should  be  done  with 
the  body  ? . A glance  at  the  door  of  the  house  settled  that : 
Fernando  had  himself  opened  it  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
received  the  summons  to  turn  round.  She  dragged  the 
corpse  in,  therefore,  to  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  put  the  key  20 
by  the  dead  man's  side,  and  then,  issuing  softly  into  the 
street,  drew  the  door  close  with  as  little  noise  as  possible. 
Catalina  again  paused  to  listen  and  to  watch,  went  home  to 
the  hospitable  senora's  house,  retired  to  bed,  fell  asleep,  and 
early  the  next  morning  was  awakened  by  the  corregidor  and  25 
four  alguazils. 

The  lawlessness  of  all  that  followed  strikingly  exposes  the 
frightful  state  of  criminal  justice  at  that  time  wherever 
Spanish  law  prevailed.  No  evidence  appeared  to  connect 
Catalina  in  any  way  with  the  death  of  Fernando  Acosta.  30 
The  Portuguese  gamblers,  besides  that  perhaps  they  thought 
lightly  of  such  an  accident,  might  have  reasons  of  their  own 
for  drawing  off  public  attention  from  their  pursuits  in  Tucu- 


160  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y 


man.  Xot  one  of  these  men  came  forward  openly;  else  the 
circumstances  at  the  gaming-table,  and  the  departure  of 
Catalina  so  closely  on  the  heels  of  her  opponent,  would  have 
suggested  reasonable  grounds  for  detaining  her  until  some 
..  rther  light  should  be  obtained.  As  it  was,  her  imprison- 
/.j  mt  rested  upon  no  colourable  ground  whatever,  unless  the 
.'Magistrate  had  received  some  anonymous  information,  — 
which,  however,  he  never  alleged.  One  comfort  there  was, 
meantime,  in  Spanish  injustice:  it  did  not  loiter.  Full 
10  gallop  it  went  over  the  ground : one  week  often  sufficed  for 
informations  — for  trial  — for  execution ; and  the  only  bad 
consequence  was  that  a second  or  a third  week  sometimes 
exposed  the  disagreeable  fact  that  everything  had  been  “ pre- 
mature”; a solemn  sacrifice  had  been  made  to  offended  jus- 
15  tice  in  which  all  was  right  except  as  to  the  victim ; it  was  the 
vrrong  man ; and  that  gave  extra  trouble ; for  then  all  was  to 
do  over  again  — another  man  to  be  executed,  and,  possibly, 
still  to  be  caught. 

Justice  moved  at  her  usual  Spanish  rate  in  the  present 
20  case.  Kate  was  obliged  to  rise  instantly ; not  suffered  to 
speak  to  anybody  in  the  house,  though,  in  going  out,  a door 
opened,  and  she  saw  the  young  Juana  looking  out  with  her 
saddest  Indian  expression.  In  one  day  the  trial  was  finished. 
Catalina  said  (which  was  true)  that  she  hardly  knew  Acosta, 
25  and  that  people  of  her  rank  were  used  to  attack  their  enemies 
face  to  face,  not  by  murderous  surprises.  The  magistrates 
were  impressed  by  Catalina's  answers  (yet  answers  to  what, 
or  to  whom , in  a case  where  there  was  no  distinct  charge, 
and  no  avowed  accuser?)  Things  were  beginning  to  look 
30  well  wThen  all  was  suddenly  upset  by  two  witnesses,  w~hom 
the  reader  (who  is  a sort  of  accomplice  after  the  fact,0  having 
been  privately  let  into  the  truths  of  the  case,  and  having 
concealed  his  knowledge)  will  know  at  once  to  be  false  wit- 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


161 


nesses,  but  whom  the  old  Spanish  buzwigs0  doated  on  as 
models  of  all  that  could  be  looked  for  in  the  best.  Both 
were  ill-looking  fellows,  as  it  was  their  duty  to  be.  And 
the  first  deposed  as  follows : — That  through  his  quarter  of 
Tucuman  the  fact  was  notorious  of  Acosta's  wife  being  the  5 
object  of  a criminal  pursuit  on  the  part  of  the  Alferez  (Cata- 
lina) ; that,  doubtless,  the  injured  husband  had  surprised 
the  prisoner,  — which,  of  course,  had  led  to  the  murder,  to 
the  staircase,  to  the  key,  to  everything,  in  short,  that  could 
be  wished.  No  — stop!  what  am  I saying?  — to  every- Id 
thing  that  ought  to  be  abominated.  Finally  — for  he  had 
now  settled  the  main  question  — that  he  had  a friend  who 
would  take  up  the  case  where  he  himself,  from  shortsighted- 
ness, was  obliged  to  lay  it  down.  This  friend  — the  Pythias 
of  this  shortsighted  Damon0  — started  up  in  a frenzy  of  virtue  in 
at  this  summons,  and,  rushing  to  the  front  of  the  alguazils, 
said,  “That,  since  his  friend  had  proved  sufficiently  the  fact 
of  the  Alferez  having  been  lurking  in  the  house,  and  having 
murdered  a man,  all  that  rested  upon  him  to  show  was  how 
that  murderer  got  out  of  that  house ; which  he  could  do  sat-  20 
isfactorily;  for  there  was  a balcony  running  along  the  win- 
dows on  the  second  floor,  one  of  which  windows  he  himself, 
lurking  in  a corner  of  the  street,  saw  the  Alferez  throw  up, 
and  from  the  said  balcon}^  take  a flying  leap  into  the  said 
street."  Evidence  like  this  was  conclusive ; no  defence  was  25 
listened  to,  nor  indeed  had  the  prisoner  any  to  produce.  The 
Alferez  could  deny  neither  the  staircase  nor  the  balcony ; the 
street  is  there  to  this  day,  like  the  bricks  in  Jack  Cade's  chim- 
ney,0 testifying  all  that  may  be  required ; and,  as  to  our  friend 
who  saw  the  leap,  there  he  was  — nobody  could  deny  him.  30 
The  prisoner  might  indeed  have  suggested  that  she  never  heard 
of  Acosta's  wife ; nor  had  the  existence  of  such  a wife  been 
proved,  or  even  ripened  into  a suspicion.  But  the  bench 

M 


162  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


were  satisfied ; chopping  logic  in  defence  was  henceforward 
impertinence ; and  sentence  was  pronounced  — that,  on  the 
eighth  day  from  the  day  of  arrest,  the  Alferez  should  be  exe- 
cuted in  the  public  square. 

5 It  was  not  amongst  the  weaknesses  of  Catalina  — who  had 
so  often  inflicted  death,  and,  by  her  own  journal,  thought  so 
lightly  of  inflicting  it°  (unless  under  cowardly  advantages)  — 
to  shrink  from  facing  death  in  her  own  person.  Many  inci- 
dents in  her  career  show  the  coolness  and  even  gaiety  with 
10  which,  in  any  case  where  death  was  apparently  inevitable, 
she  would  have  gone  forward  to  meet  it.  But  in. this  case 
she  had  a temptation  for  escaping  it,  which  was  certainly  in 
her  power.  She  had  only  to  reveal  the  secret  of  her  sex,  and 
the  ridiculous  witnesses,  beyond  whose  testimony  there  was 
15  nothing  at  all  against  her,  must  at  once  be  covered  with  de- 
rision. Catalina  had  some  liking  for  fun ; and  a main  induce- 
ment to  this  course  was  that  it  would  enable  her  to  say  to  the 
judges,  “Now,  you  see  what  old  fools  you've  made  of  your- 
selves ; every  woman  and  child  in  Peru  will  soon  be  laughing 
20 at  you.”  I must  acknowledge  my  own  weakness;  this  last 
temptation  I could  not  have  withstood ; flesh  is  weak,  and  fun 
is  strong.  But  Catalina  did.  On  consideration,  she  fancied 
that,  although  the  particular  motive  for  murdering  Acosta 
would  be  dismissed  with  laughter,  still  this  might  not  clear 
25  her  of  the  murder ; which,  on  some  other  motive,  she  might 
be  supposed  to  have  committed.  But,  allowing  that  she 
were  cleared  altogether,  what  most  of  all  she  feared  was  that 
the  publication  of  her  sex  would  throw  a reflex  light  upon 
many  past  transactions  in  her  life;  would  instantly  find  its 
30  way  to  Spain ; and  would  probably  soon  bring  her  within  the 
tender  attentions  of  the  Inquisition.0  She  kept  firm,  there- 
fore, to  the  resolution  of  not  saving  her  life  by  this  discovery, 
id,  so  far  as  her  fate  lay  in  her  own  hands,  she  would  to  a 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


163 


certainty  have  perished  — which  to  me  seems  a most  fan- 
tastic caprice ; it  was  to  court  a certain  death  and  a present 
death,  in  order  to  evade  a remote  contingency  of  death.  But 
even  at  this  point  how  strange  a case ! A woman  falsely 
accused  (because  accused  by  lying  witnesses)  of  an  act  which  5 
she  really  did  commit ! And  falsely  accused  of  a true  offence 
upon  a motive  that  was  impossible ! 

As  the  sun  was  setting  upon  the  seventh  day,  when  the 
hours  were  numbered  for  the  prisoner,  there  filed  into  her 
cell  four  persons  in  religious  habits.  They  came  on  the  10 
charitable  mission  of  preparing  the  poor  convict  for  death. 
Catalina,  however,  watching  all  things  narrowly,  remarked 
something  earnest  and  significant  in  the  eye  of  the  leader,  as 
of  one  who  had  some  secret  communication  to  make.  She 
contrived,  therefore,  to  clasp  this  man;s  hands,  as  if  in  the  15 
energy  of  internal  struggles,  and  he  contrived  to  slip  into  hers 
the  very  smallest  of  billets  from  poor  Juana.  It  contained, 
for  indeed  it  could  contain,  only  these  three  words  — “Do  not 
confess.  — J.  ” This  one  caution,  so  simple  and  so  brief, 
proved  a talisman.  It  did  not  refer  to  any  confession  of  the  20 
crime ; that  would  have  been  assuming  what  Juana  was 
neither  entitled  nor  disposed  to  assume;  but  it  referred,  in 
the  technical  sense  of  the  Church,  to  the  act  of  devotional 
confession.  Catalina  found  a single  moment  for  a glance  at 
it ; understood  the  whole ; resolutely  refused  to  confess,  as  a 25 
person  unsettled  in  her  religious  opinions  that  needed  spiritual 
instructions;  and  the  four  monks  withdrew  to  make  their 
report.  The  principal  judge,  upon  hearing  of  the  prisoner’s 
impenitence,  granted  another  day.  At  the  end  of  that , no 
change  having  occurred  either  in  the  prisoner’s  mind  or  in3</ 
the  circumstances,  he  issued  his  warrant  for  the  execution. 
Accordingly,  as  the  sun  went  down,  the  sad  procession  formed 
within  the  prison.  Into  the  great  square  of  Tucuman  it 


164  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QU1XCEY 


moved,  where  the  scaffold  had  been  built,  and  the  whole  cits 
had  assembled  for  the  spectacle.  Catalina  steadily  ascended 
the  ladder  of  the  scaffold;  even  then  she  resolved  not  to  bene- 
fit by  revealing  her  sex ; even  then  it  was  that  she  expressed 
5 her  scorn  for  the  lubberly  executioner  s mode  of  tying  a knot ; 
did  it  herself  in  a “ship-shape,”0  orthodox  manner;  received 
in  return  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  the  crowd,  and  so  far 
ran  the  risk  of  precipitating  her  fate;  for  the  timid  magis- 
trates, fearing  a rescue  from  the  fiery  clamours  of  the  impetu- 
10  ous  mob,  angrily  ordered  the  executioner  to  finish  the  scene.0 
The  clatter  of  a galloping  horse,  however,  at  this  instant 
forced  them  to  pause.  The  crowd  opened  a road  for  the 
agitated  horseman,  who  was  the  bearer  of  an  order  from  the 
President0  of  La  Plata0  to  suspend  the  execution  until  two 
15  prisoners  could  be  examined.  The  whole  was  the  work  of  the 
senora  and  her  daughter.  The  elder  lady,  having  gathered 
informations  against  the  witnesses,  had  pursued  them  to  La 
Plata.  There,  by  her  influence  with  the  governor,  they  were 
arrested,  recognised  as  old  malefactors,  and  in  their  terror 
20  had  partly  confessed  their  perjury.  Catalina  vas  removed 
to  La  Plata ; solemnly  acquitted ; and,  by  the  advice  of  the 
president,  for  the  present  the  connexion  with  the  senora ?s 
family  was  indefinitely  postponed. 

22.  — Kate’s  Penultimate  Adventure. 

Xow  was  the  last-but-one  adventure  at  hand  that  ever 
25  Catalina  should  see  in  the  Xew  World.  Some  fine  sights 
she  may  yet  see  in  Europe,  but  nothing  after  this  ( which  she 
has  recorded0)  in  America.  Europe,  if  it  had  ever  heard  of  her 
name  (as  very  shortly  it  shall  hear),  — Kings,  Pope,  Cardi- 
nals, if  they  were  but  aware  of  her  existence  (which  in  six 
30 months  they  shall  be),  — would  thirst  for  an  introduction  to 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


165 


our  Catalina.  You  hardly  thought  now,  reader,  that  she 
was  such  a great  person,  or  anybody's  pet  but  yours  and 
mine.  Bless  you,  sir,  she  would  scorn  to  look  at  us.  I tell  you, 
that  Eminences,  Excellencies,  Highnesses  — nay,  even  Roy- 
alties and  Holinesses0  — are  languishing  to  see  her,  or  soon  5 
will  be.  But  how  can  this  come  to  pass,  if  she  is  to  continue 
in  her  present  obscurity  ? Certainly  it  cannot  without  some 
great  peripetteia,0  or  vertiginous  whirl  of  fortune;  which, 
therefore,  you  shall  now  behold  taking  place  in  one  turn  of 
her  next  adventure.  That  shall  let  in  a light,  that  shall  throw  lfl 
back  a Claude  Lorraine  gleam0  over  all  the  past,  able  to  make 
kings,  that  would  have  cared  not  for  her  under  Peruvian  day- 
light, come  to  glorify  her  setting  beams. 

The  senora  — and,  observe,  whatever  kindness  she  does  to 
Catalina  speaks  secretly  from  two  hearts,  her  own  and  Juana's  15 
— had,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  President  Mendonia,0  given 
sufficient  money  for  Catalina's  travelling  expenses.  So  far 
well.  But  Mr.  M.  chose  to  add  a little  codicil  to  this  bequest 
of  the  senora 's,  never  suggested  by  her  or  by  her  daughter. 
“Pray,"  said  this  inquisitive  president,  who  surely  might  2d 
have  found  business  enough  within  his  own  neighbourhood  — 
“pray,  Senor  Pietro  Diaz,  did  you  ever  live  at  Concepcion? 
And  were  you  ever  acquainted  there  with  Signor  Miguel  de 
Erauso  ? That  man,  sir,  was  my  friend."  What  a pity  that 
on  this  occasion  Catalina  could  not  venture  to  be  candid ! 25 
What  a capital  speech  it  would  have  made  to  say,  “ Friend 
were  you  ? I think  you  could  hardly  be  that,  with  seven  hun- 
dred miles0  between  you.  But  that  man  was  my  friend  also ; 
and,  secondly,  my  brother.  True  it  is  I killed  him.  But, 
if  you  happen  to  know  that  this  was  by  pure  mistake  in  the  30 
dark,  what  an  old  rogue  you  must  be  to  throw  that  in  my 
teeth  which  is  the  affliction  of  my  life  !"  Again,  however,  as 
so  often  in  the  same  circumstances,  Catalina  thought  that  it 


166  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


would  cause  more  ruin  than  it  could  heal  to  be  candid ; and, 
indeed  if  she  were  really  P.  Diaz , Esq.,  how  came  she  to  be 
brother  to  the  late  Mr.  Erauso?  On  consideration,  also,  if 
she  could  not  tell  all,  merely  to  have  professed  a fraternal 
5 connexion  which  never  was  avowed  by  either  whilst  living 
together  would  not  have  brightened  the  reputation  of  Cata- 
lina. Still,  from  a kindness  for  poor  Kate,  I feel  uncharitably 
towards  the  president  for  advising  Senor  Pietro  “to  travel 
for  his  health.”  What  had  he  to  do  with  people's  health? 
10  However,  Mr.  Peter,  as  he  had  pocketed  the  senora's  money, 
thought  it  right  to  pocket  also  the  advice  that  accompanied  its 
payment.  That  he  might  be  in  a condition  to  do  so,  he  went 
oft  to  buy  a horse.  On  that  errand,  in  all  lands,  for  some 
reason  only  half  explained,  you  must  be  in  luck  if  you  do  not 
15  fall  in,  and  eventually  fall  out,  with  a knave.  But  on  this 
particular  day  Kate  was  in  luck.  For,  beside  money  and 
advice,  she  obtained  at  a low  rate  a horse  both  beautiful  and 
serviceable  for  a journey.  To  Paz°  it  was,  a city  of  pros- 
perous name,  that  the  cornet  first  moved.  But  Paz  did  not 
20  fulfil  the  promise  of  its  name.  For  it  laid  the  grounds  of  a 
feud  that  drove  our  Kate  out  of  America. 

Her  first  adventure  was  a bagatelle,  and  fitter  for  a jest- 
book  than  for  a serious  history  ; yet  it  proved  no  jest  either, 
since  it  led  to  the  tragedy  that  followed.  Riding  into  Paz, 
25  our  gallant  standard-bearer  and  her  bonny  black  horse  drew 
all  eyes,  comme  de  raison,0  upon  their  separate  charms.  This 
was  inevitable  amongst  the  indolent  population  of  a Spanish 
town;  and  Kate  was  used  to  it.  But,  having  recently  had 
a little  too  much  of  the  public  attention,  she  felt  nervous  on 
30  remarking  two  soldiers  eyeing  the  handsome  horse  and  the 
handsome  rider  with  an  attention  that  seemed  too  earnest  for 
mere  (esthetics . However,  Kate  was  not  the  kind  of  person 
to  let  anything  dwell  on  her  spirits,  especially  if  it  took  tli6 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


m 

shape  of  impudence ; and,  whistling  gaily,  she  was  riding  for- 
ward, when  — who  should  cross  her  path  but  the  Alcalde0  of 
Paz  ? Ah  ! alcalde,  you  see  a person  now  that  has  a mission 
against  you  and  all  that  you  inherit;  though  a mission 
known  to  herself  as  little  as  to  you.  Good  were  it  for  you  5 
had  you  never  crossed  the  path  of  this  Biscayan  Alferez. 
The  alcalde  looked  so  sternly  that  Kate  asked  if  his  worship 
had  any  commands.  “Yes.  These  men,”  said  the  alcalde, 
“these  two  soldiers,  say  that  this  horse  is  stolen. " To  one 
who  had  so  narrowly  and  so  lately  escaped  the  balcony  wit-  1C 
ness  and  his  friend,  it  was  really  no  laughing  matter  to  hear 
of  new  affidavits  in  preparation.  Kate  was  nervous,  but 
never  disconcerted.  In  a moment  she  had  twitched  off  a 
saddle-cloth  on  which  she  sat ; and,  throwing  it  over  the 
horse's  head,  so  as  to  cover  up  all  between  the  ears  and  15 
the  mouth,  she  replied,  “That  she  had  bought  and  paid  for  the 
horse  at  La  Plata.  But  now,  your  worship,  if  this  horse  has 
really  been  stolen  from  these  men,  they  must  know  well  of 
which  eye  it  is  blind;  for  it  can  be  only  in  the  right  eye  or 
the  left."  One  of  the  soldiers  cried  out  instantly  that  it  was20 
the  left  eye ; but  the  other  said,  “No,  no ; you  forget,  it's  the 
right."  Kate  maliciously  called  attention  to  this  little 
schism.  But  the  men  said,  “Ah,  that  was  nothing  — they 
were  hurried;  but  now,  on  recollecting  themselves,  they 
were  agreed  that  it  w^as  the  left  eye."  — “Did  they  stand  to 25 
that?"  — “Oh,  yes,  positive  they  were  — left  eye  — left." 

Upon  which  our  Kate,  twitching  off  the  horse-cloth,  said 
gaily  to  the  magistrate,  “Now,  sir,  please  to  observe  that  this 
horse  has  nothing  the  matter  with  either  eye."  And,  in  fact, 
it  was  so.  Upon  that , his  worship  ordered  his  alguazils  to  3(1 
apprehend  the  two  witnesses,  who  posted  off  to  bread  and 
water,  with  other  reversionary  advantages0;  whilst  Kate 
rode  in  quest  of  the  best  dinner  that  Paz  could  furnish. 


168  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE Y 


23.  — Preparation  for  Kate’s  Final  Adventure  in  Peru 

This  alcalde’s  acquaintance,  however,  was  not  destined  to 
drop  here.  Something  had  appeared  in  the  young  Caballero’s 
bearing  which  made  it  painful  to  have  addressed  him  with 
harshness,  or  for  a moment  to  have  entertained  such  a charge 
5 against  such  a person.  He  despatched  his  cousin,  therefore, 
Don  Antonio  Calderon,  to  offer  his  apologies,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  request  that  the  stranger,  whose  rank  and 
quality  he  regretted  not  to  have  known,  would  do  him  the 
honour  to  come  and  dine  with  him.  This  explanation,  and 
10  the  fact  that  Don  Antonio  had  already  proclaimed  his  own 
position  as  cousin  to  the  magistrate,  and  nephew  to  the  Bishop 
of  Cuzco,  obliged  Catalina  to  say,  after  thanking  the  gentle- 
men for  their  obliging  attentions,  “I  myself  hold  the  rank 
of  Alferez  in  the  service  of  his  Catholic  Majesty.  I am  a 
15  native  of  Biscay,  and  I am  now  repairing  to  Cuzco0  on  private 
business.”  — “To  Cuzco  !”  exclaimed  Antonio;  “and  you 
from  dear  lovely  Biscay ! How  very  fortunate  ! My  cousin 
is  a Basque  like  you;  and,  like  you,  he  starts  for  Cuzco  to- 
morrow morning;  so  that,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  Sehor 
20  Alferez,  we  will  travel  together.”  It  was  settled  that  they 
should.  To  travel  — amongst  “balcony  witnesses,”  and 
anglers  for  “blind  horses”  — not  merely  with  a just  man, 
but  with  the  very  abstract  idea  and  riding  allegory  of  justice, 
was  too  delightful  to  the  storm-wearied  cornet  ; and  he  cheer- 
25  fully  accompanied  Don  Antonio  to  the  house  of  the  magis- 
trate, called  Don  Pedro  de  Chavarria.  Distinguished  was 
his  reception ; the  alcalde  personally  renewed  his  regrets  for 
the  ridiculous  scene  of  the  two  scampish  oculists,  and  pre- 
sented Kate  to  his  wTife  — a most  splendid  Andalusian 
30  beauty,  to  whom  he  had  been  married  about  a year. 

This  lady  there  is  a reason  for  describing;  and  the  French 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


169 


reporter  of  Catalina’s  memoirs  dwells  upon  the  theme.0  She 
united,  he  says,  the  sweetness  of  the  German  lady  with  the 
energy  of  the  Arabian  — a combination  hard  to  judge  of. 

“ As  to  her  feet,”  he  adds,  “I  say  nothing,  for  she  had  scarcely 
any  at  all.  Je  ne  parle  point  de  ses  pieds ; elle  n’en  avait  5 
presque  pas.”  “Poor  lady!”  says  a compassionate  rustic: 
“no  feet!  What  a shocking  thing  that  so  fine  a woman 
should  have  been  so  sadly  mutilated  ! ” Oh,  my  dear  rustic, 
you’re  quite  in  the  wrong  box.  The  Frenchman  means  this 
as  the  very  highest  compliment.  Beautiful,  however,  she  1C 
must  have  been,  and  a Cinderella,  I hope;  but  still  not  a 
Cinderellula,0  considering  that  she  had  the  inimitable 
walk  and  step  of  Andalusian  women,  which  cannot  be  ac- 
complished without  something  of  a proportionate  basis  to 
stand  upon.  15 

The  reason  which  there  is  (as  I have  said)  for  describing 
this  lady  arises  out  of  her  relation  to  the  tragic  events  which 
followed.  She,  by  her  criminal  levhy,  was  the  cause  of  all. 
And  I must  here  warn  the  moralising  blunderer  of  two  errors 
that  he  is  likely  to  make:  1st,  that  he  is  invited  to  read2o 
some  extract  from  a licentious  amour,  as  if  for  its  own  in- 
terest; 2dly,  or  on  account  of  Donna  Catalina’s  memoirs, 
with  a view  to  relieve  their  too  martial  character.  I have 
the  pleasure  to  assure  him  of  his  being  so  utterly  in  the  dark- 
ness of  error  that  any  possible  change  he  can  make  in  his  25 
opinions,  right  or  left,  must  be  for  the  better : he  cannot  stir 
but  he  will  mend,  — which  is  a delightful  thought  for  the 
moral  and  blundering  mind.  As  to  the  first  point,  what 
little  glimpse  he  obtains  of  a licentious  amour  is,  as  a court  of 
justice  will  sometimes  show  him  such  a glimpse,  simply  to  30 
make  intelligible  the  subsequent  facts  which  depend  upon  it. 
Secondly,  as  to  the  conceit  that  Catalina  wished  to  embellish 
her  memoirs,  understand  that  no  such  practice  then  existed 


170  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


— certainly  not  in  Spanish  literature.0  Her  memoirs  are 
electrifying  by  their  facts;  else,  in  the  manner  of  telling 
these  facts,  they  are  systematically  dry.° 

But  let  us  resume.  Don  Antonio  Calderon  was  a hand- 
5 some,  accomplished  cavalier.  And  in  the  course  of  dinner 
Catalina  was  led  to  judge,  from  the  behaviour  to  each  other  of 
this  gentleman  and  the  lady,  the  alcalde's  beautiful  wife,  that 
they  had  an  improper  understanding.  This  also  she  inferred 
from  the  furtive  language  of  their  eyes.  Her  wonder  was 
10  that  the  alcalde  should  be  so  blind ; though  upon  that  point 
she  saw  reason  in  a day  or  two  to  change  her  opinion.  Some 
people  see  everything  by  affecting  to  see  nothing.  The  whole 
affair,  however,  was  nothing  at  all  to  her ; and  she  would 
have  dismissed  it  altogether  from  her  thoughts,  but  for  the 
15  dreadful  events  on  the  journey. 

This  went  on  but  slowly,  however  steadily.  Owing  to 
the  miserable  roads,  eight  hours  a-day  of  travelling  was  found 
quite  enough  for  man  and  beast ; the  product  of  which  eight 
hours  was  from  ten  to  twelve  leagues,  taking  the  league  at 
20  2\  miles.0  On  the  last  day  but  one  of  the  journey,  the  travel- 
ling party,  which  was  precisely  the  original  dinner  party, 
reached  a little  town  ten  leagues  short  of  Cuzco.  The  cor- 
regidor  of  this  place  was  a friend  of  the  alcalde ; and  through 
his  influence  the  party  obtained  better  accommodations  than 
25  those  which  they  had  usually  commanded  in  a hovel  calling 
itself  a venta,°  or  in  a sheltered  corner  of  a barn.  The  alcalde 
was  to  sleep  at  the  corregidor's  house ; the  two  young  cava- 
liers, Calderon  and  our  Kate,  had  sleeping-rooms  at  the  public 
locanda0 ; but  for  the  lady  was  reserved  a little  pleasure- 
30  house  in  an  enclosed  garden.  This  was  a mere  toy  of  a house ; 
but,  the  season  being  summer,  and  the  house  surrounded 
with  tropical  flowers,  the  lady  preferred  it  (in  spite  of  its 
loneliness)  to  the  damp  mansion  of  the  official  grandee,  who, 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


171 


in  her  humble  opinion,  was  quite  as  fusty  as  his  mansion, 
and  his  mansion  not  much  less  so  than  himself. 

After  dining  gaily  together  at  the  locanda,  and  possibly 
taking  a “rise”0  out  of  his  worship  the  corregidor,  as  a repeat- 
ing echo  of  Don  Quixote0  (then  growing  popular  in  Spanish  5 
America),  the  young  man  Don  Antonio,  who  was  no  young 
officer,  and  the  young  officer  Catalina,  who  was  no  young 
man,  lounged  down  together  to  the  little  pavilion  in  the 
flower-garden,  with  the  purpose  of  paying  their  respects  to 
the  presiding  belle.  They  were  graciously  received,  and  had  1( 
the  honour  of  meeting  there  his  mustiness  the  alcalde,  and 
his  fustiness  the  corregidor0 ; whose  conversation  ought 
surely  to  have  been  edifying,  since  it  was  anything  but  bril- 
liant. How  they  got  on  under  the  weight  of  two  such  muffs0 
has  been  a mystery  for  two  centuries.  But  they  did  to  a 15 
certainty,  for  the  party  did  not  break  up  till  eleven.  Tea  and 
turn  out  you  could  not  call  it;  for  there  was  the  turn-out  in 
rigour,  but  not  the  tea . One  thing,  however,  Catalina  by 
mere  accident  had  an  opportunity  of  observing,  and  observed 
with  pain.  The  two  official  gentlemen,  on  taking  leave,  had  20 
gone  down  the  steps  into  the  garden.  Catalina,  having  for- 
got her  hat,  went  back  into  the  little  vestibule  to  look  for  it. 
There  stood  the  lady  and  Don  Antonio,  exchanging  a few 
final  words  (they  were  final)  and  a fewT  final  signs.  Amongst 
the  last  Kate  observed  distinctly  this,  and  distinctly  she  25 
understood  it.  First  of  all,  by  raising  her  forefinger,  the 
lady  drew  Calderon’s  attention  to  the  act  which  followed  as 
one  of  significant  pantomime;  which  done,  she  snuffed  out 
one  of  the  candles.  The  young  man  answered  it  by  a look 
of  intelligence;  and  then  all  three  passed  down  the  steps 3a 
together.  The  lady  was  disposed  to  take  the  cool  air,  and 
accompanied  them  to  the  garden-gate ; but,  in  passing  down 
the  walk,  Catalina  noticed  a second  ill-omened  sign  that  all 


172  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCEY 


was  not  right.  Two  glaring  eyes  she  distinguished  amongs\ 
the  shrubs  for  a moment,  and  a rustling  immediately  after. 
“ What ’s  that ?”  said  the  lady;  and  Don  Antonio  answered, 
carelessly,  “A  bird  flying  out  of  the  bushes.”  But  birds  do 
5 not  amuse  themselves  by  staying  up  to  midnight ; and  birds 
do  not  wear  rapiers. 

Catalina,  as  usual,  had  read  everything.  Not  a wrinkle 

or  a rustle  was  lost  upon  her.  And  therefore,  when  she 

reached  the  locanda,  knowing  to  an  iota  all  that  was  coming, 

10  she  did  not  retire  to  bed,  but  paced  before  the  house.  She 

had  not  long  to  wait : in  fifteen  minutes  the  door  opened 

softly,  and  out  stepped  Calderon.  Kate  walked  forward,  and 

faced  him  immediately;  telling  him  laughingly  that  it  was 

not  good  for  his  health  to  go  abroad  on  this  night.  The 

15  young  man  showed  some  impatience ; upon  which,  very 

seriously,  Kate  acquainted  him  with  her  suspicions,  and  with 

the  certainty  that  the  alcalde  was  not  so  blind  as  he  had 

seemed.  Calderon  thanked  her  for  the  information;  would 

be  upon  his  guard ; but,  to  prevent  further  expostulation,  he 

20  wheeled  round  instantlv  into  the  darkness.  Catalina  was  too 

%/ 

well  convinced,  however,  of  the  mischief  on  foot  to  leave  him 
thus.  She  followed  rapidly,  and  passed  silently  into  the 
garden,  almost  at  the  same  time  with  Calderon.  Both  took 
their  stations  behind  trees,  — Calderon  watching  nothing  but 
25  the  burning  candles,  Catalina  watching  circumstances  to 
direct  her  movements.  The  candles  burned  brightly  in  the 
little  pavilion.  Presently  one  was  extinguished.  Upon  this, 
Calderon  pressed  forward  to  the  steps,  hastily  ascended  them, 
and  passed  into  the  vestibule.  Catalina  followed  on  his 
30  traces.  What  succeeded  was  all  one  scene  of  continued, 
dreadful  dumb  show;  different  passions  of  panic,  or  deadly 
struggle,  or  hellish  malice,  absolutely  suffocated  all  articulate 
utterances. 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


173 


In  the  first  moments  a gurgling  sound  was  heard,  as  of  a 
wild  beast  attempting  vainly  to  yell  over  some  creature  that 
it  was  strangling.  Next  came  a tumbling  out  at  the  door  of 
one  black  mass,  which  heaved  and  parted  at  intervals  into 
two  figures,  which  closed,  which  parted  again,  which  at  lasts 
fell  down  the  steps  together.  Then  appeared  a figure  in 
white.  It  was  the  unhappy  Andalusian;  and  she,  seeing 
the  outline  of  Catalina’s  person,  ran  up  to  her,  unable  to 
utter  one  syllable.  Pitying  the  agony  of  her  horror,  Catalina 
took  her  within  her  own  cloak,  and  carried  her  out  at  the  10 
garden  gate.  Calderon  had  by  this  time  died;  and  the 
maniacal  alcalde  had  risen  up  to  pursue  his  wife.  But  Kate, 
foreseeing  what  he  would  do,  had  stepped  silently  within  the 
shadow  of  the  garden  wall.  Looking  down  the  road  to  the 
town,  and  seeing  nobody  moving,  the  maniac,  for  some  is 
purpose,  went  back  to  the  house.  This  moment  Kate  used 
to  recover  the  locanda,  with  the  lady  still  panting  in  horror. 
What  was  to  be  done  ? To  think  of  concealment  in  this  little 
place  was  out  of  the  question.  The  alcalde  was  a man  of 
local  power,  and  it  was  certain  that  he  would  kill  his  wife  on  20 
the  spot.  Kate’s  generosity  would  not  allow  her  to  have  any 
collusion  with  this  murderous  purpose.  At  Cuzco,  the  princi- 
pal convent  was  ruled  by  a near  relative  of  the  Andalusian ; 
and  there  she  would  find  shelter.  Kate  therefore  saddled 
her  horse  rapidly,  placed  the  lady  behind,  and  rode  off  in  the  25 
darkness. 

24.  — A Steeplechase. 

About  five  miles  out  of  the  town  their  road  was  crossed  by 
a torrent,  over  which  they  could  not  hit  the  bridge.  “ For- 
ward!” cried  the  lady,  “Oh,  heavens!  forward!”;  and, 
Kate  repeating  the  word  to  the  horse,  the  docile  creature  30 


174  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 

leaped  down  into  the  water.  They  were  all  sinking  at  first; 
blit,  having  its  head  free,  the  horse  swam  clear  of  all  obstacles 
through  midnight  darkness,  and  scrambled  out  on  the  oppo- 
site bank.  The  two  riders  were  dripping  from  the  shoulders 
5 downward.  But,  seeing  a light  twinkling  from  a cottage 
window,  Kate  rode  up,  obtaining  a little  refreshment,  and  the 
benefit  of  a fire,  from  a poor  labouring  man.  From  this  man 
she  also  bought  a warm  mantle  for  the  lady ; who  besides  her 
torrent  bath,  was  dressed  in  a light  evening  robe,  so  that  but 
10  for  the  horseman's  cloak  of  Kate  she  would  have  perished. 
But  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  They  had  already  lost  two 
hours  from  the  consequences  of  their  cold  bath.  Cuzco  was 
still  eighteen  miles  distant0;  and  the  alcalde's  shrewdness 
would  at  once  divine  this  to  be  his  wife's  mark.  They  re- 
15  mounted : very  soon  the  silent  night  echoed  the  hoofs  of  a 
pursuing  rider;  and  now  commenced  the  most  frantic  race, 
in  which  each  party  rode  as  if  the  whole  game  of  life  were 
staked  upon  the  issue.  The  pace  was  killing;  and  Kate  has 
delivered  it  as  her  opinion,  in  the  memoirs  which  she  wrote, 
20  that  the  alcalde  was  the  better  mounted.0  This  may  be 
doubted.  And  certainly  Kate  had  ridden  too  many  years  in 
the  Spanish  cavalry  to  have  any  fear  of  his  worship's  horse- 
manship ; but  it  was  a prodigious  disadvantage  that  her  horse 
had  to  carry  double,  while  the  horse  ridden  by  her  opponent 
25  was  one  of  those  belonging  to  the  murdered  Don  Antonio, 
and  known  to  Kate  as  a powerful  animal.  At  length  they 
had  come  within  three  miles  of  Cuzco.  The  road  after  this 
descended  the  whole  way  to  the  city,  and  in  some  places 
rapidly,  so  as  to  require  a cool  rider.  Suddenly  a deep  trench 
50  appeared,  traversing  the  whole  extent  of  a broad  heath.  It 
was  useless  to  evade  it.  To  have  hesitated  was  to  be  lost. 
Kate  saw  the  necessity  of  clearing  it ; but  she  doubted  much 
whether  her  poor  exhausted  horse,  after  twenty-one  miles  of 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


175 


work  so  severe,  had  strength  for  the  effort.  However,  the 
race  was  nearly  finished;  a score  of  dreadful  miles  had  been 
accomplished;  and  Kate's  maxim,  which  never  yet  had 
failed,  both  figuratively  for  life,  and  literally  for  the  saddle, 
was  — to  ride  at  everything  that  showed  a front  of  resistance. 
She  did  so  now.  Having  come  upon  the  trench  rather  too 
suddenly,  she  wheeled  round  for  the  advantage  of  coming 
down  upon  it  with  more  impetus,  rode  resolutely  at  it,  cleared 
it,  and  gained  the  opposite  bank.  The  hind  feet  of  her  horse 
were  sinking  back  from  the  rottenness  of  the  ground;  but 
the  strong  supporting  bridle-hand  of  Kate  carried  him  for- 
ward ; and  in  ten  minutes  more  they  would  be  in  Cuzco.  This 
being  seen  by  the  vengeful  alcalde,  who  had  built  great  hopes 
on  the  trench,  he  unslung  his  carbine,  pulled  up,  and  fired 
after  the  bonny  black  horse  and  its  two  bonny  riders.  But 
this  vicious  manoeuvre  would  have  lost  his  worship  any  bet 
that  he  might  have  had  depending  on  this  admirable  steeple- 
chase. For  the  bullets,  says  Kate  in  her  memoirs,0  whistled 
round  the  poor  clinging  lady  en  croupe0  — luckily  none  struck 
her ; but  one  wounded  the  horse.  And  that  settled  the  odds. 
Kate  now  planted  herself  well  in  her  stirrups  to  enter  Cuzco, 
almost  dangerously  a winner ; for  the  horse  was  so  maddened 
by  the  wound,  and  the  road  so  steep,  that  he  went  like  blazes ; 
and  it  really  became  difficult  for  Kate  to  guide  him  with  any 
precision  through  narrow  episcopal0  paths.  Henceforwards 
the  wounded  horse  required  unintermitting  attention;  and 
yet,  in  the  mere  luxury  of  strife,  it  was  impossible  for  Kate  to 
avoid  turning  a little  in  her  saddle  to  see  the  alcalde's  per- 
formance on  this  tight-rope  of  the  trench.  His  worship's 
horsemanship  being,  perhaps,  rather  rusty,  and  he  not  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  his  horse,  it  would  have  been  agree- 
able for  him  to  compromise  the  case  by  riding  round,  or 
dismounting.  But  all  that  was  impossible.  The  job  must  be 


5 

1G 

15 

20 

25 

30 


17G  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  I)E  QUIXCEY 


done.  And  I am  happy  to  report,  for  the  reader's  satisfac- 
tion, the  sequel  — so  far  as  Kate  could  attend  the  perform- 
ance. Gathering  himself  up  for  mischief,  the  alcalde  took 
a mighty  sweep,  as  if  ploughing  out  the  line  of  some  vast 
5 encampment,  or  tracing  the  pomcerium0  for  some  future 
Rome ; then,  like  thunder  and  lightning,  with  arms  flying 
aloft  in  the  air,  down  he  came  upon  the  trembling  trench. 
But  the  horse  refused  the  leap ; to  take  the  leap  was  impos- 
sible ; absolutely  to  refuse  it,  the  horse  felt,  was  immoral : 
1C  and  therefore,  as  the  only  compromise  that  his  unlearned 
brain  could  suggest,  he  threw  his  worship  right  over  his  ears, 
lodging  him  safely  in  a sand-heap,  that  rose  with  clouds  of 
dust  and  screams  of  birds  into  the  morning  air.  Kate  had 
now  no  time  to  send  back  her  compliments  in  a musical 
15  halloo.  The  alcalde  missed  breaking  his  neck  on  this  occa- 
sion very  narrowly;  but  his  neck  was  of  no  use  to  him  in 
twenty  minutes  more,  as  the  reader  will  find.  Kate  rode 
right  onwards ; and,  coming  in  with  a lady  behind  her,  horse 
bloody,  and  pace  such  as  no  hounds  could  have  lived  with, 
20  she  ought  to  have  made  a great  sensation  in  Cuzco.  But, 
unhappily,  the  people  of  Cuzco,  the  spectators  that  should 
have  been,  were  fast  asleep  in  bed. 

The  steeplechase  into  Cuzco  had  been  a fine  headlong 
thing,  considering  the  torrent,  the  trench,  the  wounded 
25  horse,  the  lovely  Andalusian  lady,  with  her  agonising  fears, 
mounted  behind  Kate,  together  with  the  meek  dove-like 
dawn;  but  the  finale  crowded  together  the  quickest  suc- 
cession of  changes  that  out  of  a melodrama  ever  can  have 
been  witnessed.0  Kate  reached  the  convent  in  safety;  car- 
30  ried  into  the  cloisters,  and  delivered  like  a parcel,  the  fair 
Andalusian.  But  to  rouse  the  servants  and  obtain  admission 
to  the  convent  caused  a long  delay ; and,  on  returning  to  the 
street  through  the  broad  gateway  of  the  convent,  whon? 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


177 


should  she  face  but  the  alcalde ! How  he  had  escaped  the 
trench  who  can  tell?  He  had  no  time  to  write  memoirs; 
his  horse  was  too  illiterate.  But  he  had  escaped;  temper 
not  at  all  improved  by  that  adventure,  and  now  raised  to  a 
hell  of  malignity  by  seeing  that  he  had  lost  his  prey.  The  5 
morning  light  showed  him  how  to  use  his  sword,  and  whom 
he  had  before  him ; and  he  attacked  Kate  with  fury.  Both 
were  exhausted ; and  Kate,  besides  that  she  had  no  personal 
quarrel  with  the  alcalde,  having  now  accomplished  her  sole 
object  in  saving  the  lady,  would  have  been  glad  of  a truce.  1C 
She  could  with  difficulty  wield  her  sword;  and  the  alcalde 
had  so  far  the  advantage  that  he  wounded  Kate  severely. 
That  roused  her  ancient  Biscayan  blood ; and  she  turned  on 
him  now  with  deadly  determination.  At  that  moment  in 
rode  two  servants  of  the  alcalde,  who  took  part  with  their  15 
master.  These  odds  strengthened  Kate’s  resolution,  but 
weakened  her  chances.  Just  then,  however,  rode  in,  and 
ranged  himself  on  Kate’s  side,  the  servant  of  the  murdered 
Don  Calderon.  In  an  instant  Kate  had  pushed  her  sword 
through  the  alcalde ; who  died  upon  the  spot.  In  an  instant  20 
the  servant  of  Calderon  had  fled.  In  an  instant  the  alguazils 
had  come  up.  They  and  the  servants  of  the  alcalde  pressed 
furiously  on  Kate,  who  was  again  fighting  for  her  life  with 
persons  not  even  known  to  her  by  sight.  Against  such  odds, 
she  was  rapidly  losing  ground;  when,  in  an  instant,  on  the 25 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  the  great  gates  of  the  Episcopal 
Palace  rolled  open.  Thither  it  was  that  Calderon’s  servant 
had  fled.  The  bishop  and  his  attendants  hurried  across. 
“Senor  Caballero,”  said  the  bishop,  “in  the  name  of  the 
Virgin,  I enjoin  you  to  surrender  your  sword.”  — “My  lord,” 30 
said  Kate,  “I  dare  not  do  it  with  so  many  enemies  about 
me.’'  — “But  I,”  replied  the  bishop,  “become  answerable  to 
the  law  for  your  safe  keeping.”  Upon  which,  with  filial 

N 


178  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  DE  QUINCE Y 


reverence,  all  parties  dropped  their  swords.  Kate  being 
severely  wounded,  the  bishop  led  her  into  his  palace.  In 
another  instant  came  the  catastrophe  : Kate’s  discovery  could 
no  longer  be  delayed ; the  blood  flowed  too  rapidly ; and  the 
5 wound  was  in  her  bosom.  She  requested  a private  inter- 
view with  the  bishop  : all  was  known  in  a moment ; surgeons 
and  attendants  were  summoned  hastily;  and  Kate  had 
fainted.  The  good  bishop  pitied  her,  and  had  her  attended 
in  his  palace ; then  removed  to  a convent ; then  to  a second 
10  convent  at  Lima0 ; and,  after  many  months  had  passed,  his 
report  of  the  whole  extraordinary  case  in  all  its  details  to 
the  supreme  government  at  Madrid  drew  from  the  king, 
Philip  IV, ° and  from  the  papal  legate,0  an  order  that  the  nun 
should  be  transferred  to  Spain. 


25.  — St.  Sebastian  is  finally  Checkmated. 

15  Yes,  at  length  the  warrior  lady,  the  blooming  comet  — 
this  nun  that  is  so  martial,  this  dragoon  that  is  so  lovely  — 
must  visit  again  the  home  of  her  childhood,  which  now  for 
seventeen  years  she  has  not  seen.0  All  Spain,  Portugal, 
Italy,  rang  with  her  adventures.  Spain,  from  north  to 
20  south,  was  frantic  with  desire  to  behold  her  fiery  child, 
whose  girlish  romance,  whose  patriotic  heroism,  electrified 
the  national  imagination.  The  King  of  Spain  must  kiss  his 
faithful  daughter,  that  would  not  suffer  his  banner  to  see 
dishonour.  The  Pope0  must  kiss  his  wandering  daughter, 
25  that  henceforwards  will  be  a lamb  travelling  back  into  the 
Christian  fold.  Potentates  so  great  as  these,  when  they 
speak  words  of  love,  do  not  speak  in  vain.  All  was  forgiven, 
— the  sacrilege,  the  bloodshed,  the  flight,  and  the  scorn  of 
St.  Sebastians  (consequently  of  St.  Peters)  keys0;  the  par* 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


179 


dons  were  made  out,  were  signed,  were  sealed;  and  the 
chanceries  of  earth  were  satisfied. 

Ah ! what  a day  of  sorrow  and  of  joy  was  that  one  day, 
in  the  first  week  of  November,  1624,°  when  the  returning 
Kate  drew  near  to  the  shore  of  Andalusia ; when,  descending  5 
into  the  ship’s  barge,  she  was  rowed  to  the  piers  of  Cadiz0  by 
bargemen  in  the  royal  liveries;  when  she  saw  every  ship, 
street,  house,  convent,  church,  crowded,  as  if  on  some  mighty 
day  of  judgment,  with  human  faces,  with  men,  with  women, 
with  children,  all  bending  the  lights  of  their  flashing  eyesic 
upon  herself ! Forty  myriads0  of  people  had  gathered  in 
Cadiz  alone.  All  Andalusia  had  turned  out  to  receive  her. 
Ah  ! what  joy  for  her , if  she  had  not  looked  back  to  the  Andes, 
to  their  dreadful  summits,  and  their  more  dreadful  feet.  Ah  ! 
what  sorrow,  if  she  had  not  been  forced  by  music,  and  endless  15 
banners,  and  the  triumphant  jubilations  of  her  countrymen, 
to  turn  away  from  the  Andes,  and  to  fix  her  thoughts  for  the 
moment  upon  that  glad  tumultuous  shore  which  she  ap- 
proached. 

Upon  this  shore  stood,  ready  to  receive  her,  in  front  of  20 
all  this  mighty  crowd,  the  Prime  Minister  of  Spain,  that 
same  Conde  Olivarez0  who  but  one  vear  before  had  been  so 
haughty  and  so  defying  to  our  haughty  and  defying  Duke  of 
Buckingham.  But  a year  ago  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  been 
in  Spain,  seeking  a Spanish  bride,  and  he  also  was  welcomed  25 
with  triumph  and  great  joy°;  but  not  with  the  hundredth 
part  of  that  enthusiasm  which  now  met  the  returning  nun. 
And  Olivarez,  that  had  spoken  so  roughly  to  the  English 
duke,  to  her  “was  sweet  as  summer.”0  Through  endless 
crowds  of  welcoming  compatriots  he  conducted  her  to  the  30 
king.  The  king  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  could  never  be 
satisfied  with  listening  to  her.  He  sent  for  her  continually 
to  his  presence ; h?  delighted  in  her  conversation,  so  new,  so 


180  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE  Y 


natural,  so  spirited;  he  settled  a pension  upon  her  (at  the 
time  of  unprecedented  amount0) ; and  by  his  desire,  because 
the  year  1625  was  a year  of  jubilee,0  she  departed  in  a few 
months  from  Madrid0  to  Rome.  She  went  through  Barce- 
5 lona,°  — there  and  everywhere  welcomed  as  the  lady  whom 
the  king  delighted  to  honour.0  She  travelled  to  Rome,  and 
all  doors  flew  open  to  receive  her.  She  was  presented  to  his 
Holiness,  with  letters  from  his  Most  Catholic  Majesty.  But 
letters  there  needed  none.  The  Pope  admired  her  as  much 
10  as  all  before  had  done.  He  caused  her  to  recite  all  her 
adventures ; and  what  he  loved  most  in  her  account  was  the 
sincere  and  sorrowing  spirit  in  which  she  described  herself  as 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  she  had  been.  Neither  proud 
was  Kate,  nor  sycophantishly  and  falsely  humble.  Urban 
15  VIII  it  was  then  that  filled  the  chair  of  St.  Peter.  He  did 
not  neglect  to  raise  his  daughter’s  thoughts  from  earthly 
things : he  pointed  her  eyes  to  the  clouds  that  were  floating 
in  mightv  volumes  above  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  Cathedral , 
he  told  her  what  the  cathedral  had  told  her  amongst  the 
20  gorgeous  clouds  of  the  Andes  and  the  solemn  vesper  lights  — 
how  sweet  a thing,  how  divine  a thing,  it  was  for  Christ's 
sake  to  forgive  all  injuries,  and  how  he  trusted  that  no 
more  she  would  think  of  bloodshed,  but  that,  if  again  she 
should  suffer  wrongs,  she  would  resign  all  vindictive  retalia- 
25  lion  for  them  into  the  hands  o*  God,  the  final  Avenger.  I 
must  also  find  time  to  mention,  although  the  press  and  the 
compositors  are  in  a fury  at  my  delays,0  that  the  Pope,  in  his 
farewell  audience  to  his  dear  daughter,  whom  he  was  to  see 
no  more,  gave  her  a general  licence  to  wear  henceforth  in  all 
30  countries  — even  in  partibus  Infidelium0  — a cavalry  officer's 
dress,  boots,  spurs,  sabre;  in  fact,  anything  that  she  and 
the  Horse  Guards0  might  agree  upon.  Consequently,  reader, 
say  not  one  word,  nor  suffer  any  tailor  to  say  one  word,  or 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


181 


the  ninth  part  of  a word,  against  those  Wellington  trousers 
made  in  the  chestnut  forest;  for,  understanding  that  the 
papal  indulgence  as  to  this  point  runs  backwards  as  well  as 
forwards,  it  sanctions  equally  those  trousers  in  the  forgotten 
rear  and  all  possible  trousers  yet  to  come.  5 

From  Rome,  Kate  returned  to  Spain.  She  even  went  to 
St.  Sebastian’s  — to  the  city ; but  — whether  it  was  that  her 
heart  failed  her  or  not  — never  to  the  convent.  She  roamed 
up  and  down ; everywhere  she  was  welcome  — everywhere 
an  honoured  guest ; but  everywhere  restless.0  The  poor  and  10 
humble  never  ceased  from  their  admiration  of  her;  and 
amongst  the  rich  and  aristocratic  of  Spain,  with  the  king  at 
their  head,  Kate  found  especial  love  from  two  classes  of  men. 
The  cardinals  and  bishops  all  doated  upon  her,  as  their 
daughter  that  was  returning.  The  military  men  all  doated  15 
upon  her,  as  their  sister  that  was  retiring. 

26.  — Farewell  to  the  Daughter  of  St.  Sebastian  ! 

Now,  at  this  moment,  it  has  become  necessary  for  me  to 
close;  but  I allow  to  the  reader  one  question  before  lajdng 
down  my  pen.  Come  now,  reader,  be  quick;  “look  sharp,” 
and  ask  what  you  have  to  ask ; for  in  one  minute  and  a-half  20 
I am  going  to  write  in  capitals  the  word  finis  ; after  which, 
you  know,  I am  not  at  liberty  to  add  a syllable.  It  would 
be  shameful  to  do  so;  since  that  word  Finis  enters  into  a 
secret  covenant  with  the  reader  that  he  shall  be  molested  no 
more  with  words,  small  or  great.  Twenty  to  one,  I guess  25 
what  your  question  will  be.  You  desire  to  ask  me,  What 
became  of  Kate  ? What  was  her  end  ? 

Ah,  reader ! but,  if  I answer  that  question,  you  will  say 
I have  not  answered  it.  If  I tell  you  that  secret,  you  will 
say  that  the  secret  is  still  hidden.  Yet,  because  I have  30 


182  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE  Y 


promised,  and  because  you  will  be  angry  if  I do  not,  let  me 
do  my  best. 

After  ten  years0  of  restlessness  in  Spain,  with  thoughts 
always  turning  back  to  the  dreadful  Andes,  Kate  heard  of  an 
5 expedition  on  the  point  of  sailing  to  Spanish  America.  All 
soldiers  knewT  her , so  that  she  had  information  of  everything 
which  stirred  in  camps.  Men  of  the  highest  military  rank 
were  going  out  with  the  expedition;  but  Kate  was  a sister 
everywhere  privileged;  she  was  as  much  cherished  and  as 
10  sacred,  in  the  eyes  of  every  brigade  or  tertia,0  as  their  own 
regimental  colours ; and  every"  member  of  the  staff,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  rejoiced  to  hear  that  she  would  join 
their  mess  on  board  ship.  This  ship,  with  others,  sailed; 
whither  finally  bound,  I really  forget.0  But,  on  reaching 
15  America,  all  the  expedition  touched  at  Vera  Cruz.°  Thither 
a great  crowd  of  the  military  went  on  shore.  The  leading 
officers  made  a separate  party  for  the  same  purpose.  Their 
intention  was  to  have  a gay,  happy  dinner,  after  their  long 
confinement  to  a ship,  at  the  chief  hotel;  and  happy  in 
20  perfection  the  dinner  could  not  be  unless  Kate  would  consent 
to  join  it.  She,  that  was  ever  kind  to  brother  soldiers, 
agreed  to  do  so.  She  descended  into  the  boat  along  with 
them,  and  in  twenty  minutes  the  boat  touched  the  shore. 
All  the  bevy  of  gay  laughing  officers,  junior  and  senior,  like 
25  so  many  schoolboys  let  loose  from  school,  jumped  on  shore, 
and  walked  hastily,  as  their  time  was  limited,  up  to  the 
hotel.  Arriving  there,  all  turned  round  in  eagerness,  say- 
ing, “ Where  is  our  dear  Kate?”  Ah,  yes,  my  dear  Kate,  at 
that  solemn  moment,  where,  indeed,  were  you?  She  had, 
30  beyond  all  doubt,  taken  her  seat  in  the  boat : that  was 
certain,  though  nobody,  in  the  general  confusion,  was  certain 
of  having  seen  her  actually  step  ashore.  The  sea  was  searched 
for  her  - — the  forests  were  ransacked.  But  the  sea  did  not 


THE  SPANISH  MILITARY  NUN 


183 


give  up  its  dead,0  if  there  indeed  she  lay;  and  the  forests 
made  no  answer  to  the  sorrowing  hearts  which  sought  her 
amongst  them.  Have  I never  formed  a conjecture  of  my  own 
upon  the  mysterious  fate  which  thus  suddenly  enveloped  her, 
and  hid  her  in  darkness  for  ever?  Yes,  I have.  But  it  is 5 
a conjecture  too  dim  and  unsteady  to  be  worth  repeating. 
Her  brother  soldiers,  that  should  naturally  have  had  more 
materials  for  guessing  than  myself,  were  all  lost  in  sorrowing 
perplexity,  and  could  never  arrive  even  at  a plausible  con- 
jecture.0 10 

That  happened  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  years  ago0 ! 
And  here  is  the  brief  upshot  of  all : — This  nun  sailed  from 
Spain  to  Peru,  and  she  found  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot. 
This  nun  sailed  back  from  Peru  to  Spain,  and  she  found  no 
rest  for  the  agitations  of  her  heart.  This  nun  sailed  again  15 
from  Spain  to  America,  and  she  found  — the  rest  which  all 
of  us  find.  But  where  it  was  could  never  be  made  known 
to  the  father  of  Spanish  camps,  that  sat  in  Madrid,  nor  to 
Kate’s  spiritual  father,  that  sat  in  Rome.  Known  it  is  to 
the  great  Father  of  All,  that  once  whispered  to  Kate  on  the  20 
Andes;  but  else  it  has  been  a secret  for  more  than  two 
centuries ; and  to  man  it  remains  a secret  for  ever  and  ever  I 


AUTHOR'S  POSTSCRIPT  IN  1854° 


There  are  some  narratives  which,  though  pure  fictions  from 
first  to  last,  counterfeit  so  vividly  the  air  of  grave  realities 
that,  if  deliberately  offered  for  such,  they  would  for  a time 
impose  upon  everybody.  In  the  opposite  scale  there  are 
5 other  narratives,  which,  whilst  rigorously  true,  move  amongst 
characters  and  scenes  so  remote  from  our  ordinary  experi- 
ence, and  through  a state  of  society  so  favourable  to  an 
adventurous  cast  of  incidents,  that  they  would  everywhere 
pass  for  romances,  if  severed  from  the  documents  which  attest 
10  their  fidelity  to  facts.  In  the  former  ^lass  stand  the  admi- 
rable novels  of  Defoe,0  and,  on  a lower  range  within  the 
same  category,  the  inimitable  Vicar  of  Wakefield0 ; upon 
which  last  novel,  without  at  all  designing  it,  I once  became 
the  author  of  the  following  instructive  experiment : — I had 
15  given  a copy  of  this  little  novel  to  a beautiful  girl  of  seven- 
teen, the  daughter  of  a 'statesman0  in  Westmorland,  not 
designing  any  deception  (nor  so  much  as  anv  concealment) 
with  respect  to  the  fictitious  character  of  the  incidents  and 
of  the  actors  in  that  famous  tale.  Mere  accident  it  was  that 
20  had  intercepted  those  explanations  as  to  the  extent  of  fiction 
in  these  points  which  in  this  case  it  would  have  been  so 
natural  to  make.  Indeed,  considering  the  exquisite  veri- 
similitude of  the  work,  meeting  wTith  such  absolute  inexperi- 
ence in  the  reader,  it  was  almost  a duty  to  have  made  them. 
25  This  duty,  however,  something  had  caused  me  to  forget ; 
and,  when  next  I saw  the  young  mountaineer,  I forgot  that 
I had  forgotten  it.  Consequently,  at  first  I was  perplexed 

by  the  unfaltering  gravity  with  which  my  fair  young  friend 

184 


AUTHOR'S  POSTSCRIPT  IN  185 4 


185 


spoke  of  Dr.  Primrose,  of  Sophia  and  her  sister,  of  Squire 
Thornhill,  etc.,  as  real  and  probably  living  personages,  who 
could  sue  and  be  sued.  It  appeared  that  this  artless  young 
rustic,  who  had  never  heard  of  novels  and  romances  as  a 
bare  possibility  amongst  all  the  shameless  devices  of  London  5 
swindlers,  had  read  with  religious  fidelity  every  word  of  this 
tale,  so  thoroughly  life-like,  surrendering  her  perfect  faith 
and  loving  sympathy  to  the  different  persons  in  the  tale  and 
the  natural  distresses  in  which  they  are  involved,  without 
suspecting  for  a moment  that,  by  so  much  as  a breathing  of  10 
exaggeration  or  of  embellishment,  the  pure  gospel  truth  of 
the  narrative  could  have  been  sullied.  She  listened  in  a 
kind  of  breathless  stupor  to  my  frank  explanation  that  not 
part  only,  but  the  whole,  of  this  natural  tale  was  a pure 
invention.  Scorn  and  indignation  flashed  from  her  eyes.  15 
She  regarded  herself  as  one  who  had  been  hoaxed  and  swin- 
dled ; begged  me  to  take  back  the  book ; and  never  again, 
to  the  end  of  her  life,  could  endure  to  look  into  the  book, 
or  to  be  reminded  of  that  criminal  imposture  which  Dr. 
Oliver  Goldsmith  had  practised  upon  her  youthful  credulity.  20 
In  that  case,  a book  altogether  fabulous,  and  not  meaning 
to  offer  itself  for  anything  else,  had  been  read  as  genuine 
history.  Here,  on  the  other  hand,  the  adventures  of  the 
Spanish  Nun,  which,  in  every  detail  of  time  and  place  have 
since  been  sifted  and  authenticated,0  stood  a good  chance  at  25 
one  period  of  being  classed  as  the  most  lawless  of  romances. 

It  is,  indeed,  undeniable  — and  this  arises  as  a natural  result 
from  the  bold  adventurous  character  of  the  heroine,  and  from 
the  unsettled  state  of  society  at  that  period  in  Spanish 
America — that  a reader  the  most  credulous  would  at  times  30 
be  startled  with  doubts  upon  what  seems  so  unvar}dng  a 
tenor  of  danger  and  lawless  violence.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  is  also  undeniable  that  a reader  the  most  obstinately 


186  THE  ESS  A YS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUINCE  Y 


sceptical  would  be  equally  startled  in  the  very  opposite  di< 
rection,  on  remarking  that  the  incidents  are  far  from  being 
such  as  a romance-writer  would  have  been  likely  to  invent ; 
since,  if  striking,  tragic,  and  even  appalling,  they  are  at 
5 times  repulsive.0  And  it  seems  evident  that,  once  putting 
himself  to  the  cost  of  a wholesale  fiction,  the  writer  would 
have  used  his  privilege  more  freely  for  his  own  advantage, 
whereas  the  author  of  these  memoirs  clearly  writes  under 
the  coercion  and  restraint  of  a notorious  reality,  that  would 
10  not  suffer  him  to  ignore  or  to  modify  the  leading  facts. 
Then,  as  to  the  objection  that  few  people  or  none  have  an 
experience  presenting  such  uniformity  of  perilous  adventure, 
a little  closer  attention  shows  that  the  experience  in  this  case 
is  not  uniform ; and  so  far  otherwise  that  a period  of  several 
15  years  in  Kate’s  South  American  life  is  confessedly  sup- 
pressed, and  on  no  other  ground  whatever  than  that  this  long 
parenthesis  is  not  adventurous,  not  essentially  differing  from 
the  monotonous  character  of  ordinary  Spanish  life.0 

Suppose  the  case,  therefore,  that  Kate’s  Memoirs  had  been 
20  thrown  upon  the  world  with  no  vouchers  for  their  authen- 
ticity beyond  such  internal  presumptions  as  would  have 
occurred  to  thoughtful  readers  when  reviewing  the  entire 
succession  of  incidents,  I am  of  opinion  that  the  person  best 
qualified  by  legal  experience  to  judge  of  evidence  would  finally 
25 have  pronounced  a favourable  award;  since  it  is  easy  to 
understand  that  in  a world  so  vast  as  the  Peru,  the  Mexico, 
the  Chili,  of  Spaniards  during  the  first  quarter  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  and  under  the  slender  modification  of  Indian 
manners  as  yet  effected  by  the  Papal  Christianisation  of 
30  these  countries,  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a river-system 
so  awful,0  of  a mountain-system  so  unheard-of  in  Europe, 
there  would  probably,  by  blind,  unconscious  sympathy,  grow 
up  a tendency  to  lawless  and  gigantesque  ideals  of  adventur- 


AUTHOR’S  POSTSCRIPT  IN  1854 


187 


ous  life,  under  which,  united  with  the  duelling  code  of  Europe, 
many  things  would  become  trivial  and  commonplace  experi- 
ences that  to  us  home-bred  English  (“  qui  musas  colimus  seve- 
riores ”°)  seem  monstrous  and  revolting. 

Left,  therefore,  to  itself,  my  belief  is  that  the  story  of  the  5 
Military  Nun  would  have  prevailed  finally  against  the  de- 
murs of  the  sceptics.  However,  in  the  meantime,  all  such 
demurs  were  suddenly  and  officially  silenced  for  ever.  Soon 
after  the  publication  of  Kate’s  Memoirs,0  in  what  you  may 
call  an  early  stage  of  her  literary  career,  though  two  centuries  10 
after  her  personal  career  had  closed,  a regular  controversy 
arose0  upon  the  degree  of  credit  due  to  these  extraordinary 
confessions  (such  they  may  be  called)  of  the  poor  conscience- 
haunted  nun.  Whether  these  in  Kate’s  original  MS.  were 
entitled  “ Autobiographic  Sketches,”  or  “ Selections  Grave  15 
and  Gay,  from  the  Military  Experiences  of  a Nun,”  or 
possibly  “The  Confessions  of  a Biscayan  Fire-Eater,”0  is 
more  than  I know.  No  matter : confessions  they  were ; and 
confessions  that,  when  at  length  published,  were  absolutely 
mobbed  and  hustled  by  a gang  of  misbelieving  (i.e.  miscreant0)  20 
critics.  And  this  fact  is  most  remarkable,  that  the  person 
who  originally  headed  the  incredulous  party — viz.  Sehor  De 
Ferrer,0  a learned  Castilian — was  the  very  same  who  finally 
authenticated,  by  documentary  evidence,  the  extraordinary 
narrative  in  those  parts  which  had  most  of  all  invited  25 
scepticism.  The  progress  of  the  dispute  threw  the  decision 
at  length  upon  the  archives  of  the  Spanish  Marine.  Those 
for  the  southern  ports  of  Spain  had  been  transferred,  I 
believe,  from  Cadiz  and  St.  Lucar  to  Seville : chiefly,  per- 
haps, through  the  confusions  incident  to  the  two  French  30 
invasions  of  Spain  in  our  own  day  (1st,  that  under  Na- 
poleon, 2dly,  that  under  the  Due  d’Angouleme0).  Amongst 
these  archives,  — subsequently  amongst  those  of  Cuzco  in 


188  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  BE  QUINCE  Y 


South  America,  — 3dly  amongst  the  records  of  some  royal 
courts  in  Madrid,  — 4thly  by  collateral  proof  from  the  Papal 
Chancery,0  — 5thly  from  Barcelona  — have  been  drawn  to- 
gether ample  attestations  of  all  the  incidents  recorded  by 
5 Kate.  The  elopement  from  St.  Sebastian's,  the  doubling  of 
Cape  Horn,  the  shipwreck  on  the  coast  of  Peru,  the  rescue  of 
the  royal  banner  from  the  Indians  of  Chili,  the  fatal  duel  in 
the  dark,  the  astonishing  passage  of  the  Andes,  the  tragical 
scenes  at  Tucuman  and  Cuzco,  the  return  to  Spain  in  obe- 
lodience  to  a royal  and  a papal  summons,  the  visit  to  Rome 
and  the  interview  with  the  Pope ; finally,  the  return  to  South 
America,  and  the  mysterious  disappearance  at  Vera  Cruz, 
upon  which  no  light  was  ever  thrown,  — all  these  capital 
heads  of  the  narrative  have  been  established  bejmnd  the 
15  reach  of  scepticism0 ; and,  in  consequence,  the  story  was  soon 
after  adopted  as  historically  established,  and  was  reported  at 
length  by  journals  of  the  highest  credit  in  Spain  and  Ger- 
many,0 and  by  a Parisian  journal  so  cautious  and  so  dis- 
tinguished for  its  ability  as  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.0 
20 1 must  not  leave  the  impression  upon  my  readers  that  this 
complex  body  of  documentary  evidences  has  been  searched 
and  appraised  by  myself.  Frankly,  I acknowledge  that,  on 
the  sole  occasion  when  any  opportunity  offered  itself  for 
such  a labour,  I shrank  from  it  as  too  fatiguing,  and  also  as 
25  superfluous0 ; since,  if  the  proofs  had  satisfied  the  compatriots 
of  Catalina,  who  came  to  the  investigation  with  hostile  feel- 
ings of  partisanship,  and  not  dissembling  their  incredulity,  — 
armed  also  (and  in  Mr.  De  Ferrer's  case  conspicuously  armed) 
with  the  appropriate  learning  for  giving  effect  to  this  in- 
30  credulity,  — it  could  not  become  a stranger  to  suppose  himself 
qualified  for  disturbing  a judgment  that  had  been  so  deliber- 
ately delivered.  Such  a tribunal  of  native  Spaniards  being 
satisfied,  there  was  no  further  opening  for  demur.  The 


AUTHOR'S  POSTSCRIPT  IN  1854 


189 


ratification  of  poor  Kate’s  Memoirs  is  now  therefore  to  be 
understood  as  absolute  and  without  reserve.0 

This  being  stated  — viz.  such  an  attestation  from  compe- 
tent authorities  to  the  truth  of  Kate’s  narrative,  as  may  save 
all  readers  from  my  fair  Westmorland  friend’s  disaster  — it  5 
remains  to  give  such  an  answer  as  without  further  research 
can  be  given  to  a question  pretty  sure  of  arising  in  all  re- 
flective readers’  thoughts  — viz.  Does  there  anywhere  survive 
ia  portrait  of  Kate°  ? I answer  — and  it  would  be  both  morti- 
fying and  perplexing  if  I could  not  — Yes.  One  such  portrait  10 
jthere  is  confessedly;  and  seven  years  ago  this  was  to  be 
‘found  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  in  the  collection  of  Herr  Sempeller.0 
The  name  of  the  artist  I am  not  able  to  report;  neither  can 
I say  whether  Herr  Sempeller ’s  collection  still  remains 
intact,  and  remains  at  Aix-la-Chapelle.°  15 

But,  inevitably,  to  most  readers  who  review  the  circum- 
stances of  a case  so  extraordinary  it  will  occur  that  beyond 
a doubt  many  portraits  of  the  adventurous  nun  must  have 
been  executed.  To  have  affronted  the  wrath  of  the  Inqui- 
sition, and  to  have  survived  such  an  audacity,  would  of  itself  20 
be  enough  to  found  a title  for  the  martial  nun  to  a national 
interest.  It  is  true  that  Kate  had  not  taken  the  veil;  she 
had  stopped  short  of  the  deadliest  crime  known  to  the  Inqui- 
sition; but  still  her  transgressions  were  such  as  to  require  a 
special  indulgence;  and  this  indulgence  was  granted  by  a 25 
Pope  to  the  intercession  of  a King  — the  greatest  then  reign- 
ing.0 It  was  a favour  that  could  not  have  been  asked  by  any 
greater  man  in  this  world,  nor  granted  by  any  less.  Had  no 
other  distinction  settled  upon  Kate,  this  would  have  been 
enough  to  fix  the  gaze  of  her  own  nation.  But  her  whole  30 
life  constituted  Kate’s  supreme  distinction.  There  can  be  no 
doubt,  therefore,  that  from  the  year  1624  (i.e.  the  last  year 
of  our  James  1°)  she  became  the  object  of  an  admiration  in 


190  THE  ESSAYS  OF  THOMAS  HE  QUISCET 


her  own  country  that  was  almost  idolatrous.  And  this, 
admiration  was  not  of  a kind  that  rested  upon  any  partisan- 
schism  amongst  her  countrymen.  So  long  as  it  was  kept 
alive  by  her  bodily  presence  amongst  them,  it  was  an 
5 admiration  equally  aristocratic  and  popular,  shared  alike  by 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  by  the  lofty  and  the  humble.  Great, 
therefore,  would  be  the  demand  for  her  portrait.  There  is 
a tradition  that  Velasquez,0  who  had  in  1623  executed  a 
portrait  of  Charles  1°  (then  Prince  of  Wales),  was  amongst 
10  those  who  in  the  three  or  four  following  years  ministered  to 
this  demand.  It  is  believed  also  that,  in  travelling  from: 
Genoa  and  Florence0  to  Rome,  she  sat  to  various  artists,  ini 
order  to  meet  the  interest  about  herself  already  rising 
amongst  the  cardinals  and  other  dignitaries  of  the  Romish 
15  Church.  It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  numerous  pictures  of 
Kate  are  yet  lurking  both  in  Spain  and  Italy,  but  not  known 
as  such.  For,  as  the  public  consideration  granted  to  her  had 
grown  out  of  merits  and  qualities  purely  personal,  and  were 
kept  alive  by  no  local  or  family  memorials  rooted  in  the  land, 
20  or  surviving  herself,  it  was  inevitable  that,  as  soon  as  she 
herself  died,  all  identification  of  her  portraits  would  perish  ; 
and  the  portraits  would  thenceforwards  be  confounded  with 
the  similar  memorials,  past  all  numbering,  which  every  year 
accumulates  as  the  wrecks  from  household  remembrances 
25  of  generations  that  are  passing  or  passed,  that  are  fading  or 
faded,  that  are  dying  or  buried.  It  is  well,  therefore,  amongst 
so  many  irrecoverable  ruins,  that  in  the  portrait  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  we  still*  possess  one  undoubted  representation  (and 
therefore  in  some  degree  a means  for  identifying  other  repre- 
30  sentations)  of  a female  so  memorably  adorned  by  nature ; 
gifted  with  capacities  so  unparalleled  both  of  doing  and 
suffering;  who  lived  a life  so  stormy,  and  perished  by  a fate 
so  unsearchably  mysterious. 


NOTES 


JOAN  OF  ARC 

i . Title,  Arc.  “ Modem  France,  that  should  know  a great  deal  bet- 
ter than  myself,  insists  that  the  name  is  not  D’Arc — i.e.  of  Arc  — 
but  Dare.  Now  it  happens  sometimes  that,  if  a person  whose  posi- 
tion guarantees  his  access  to  the  best  information  will  content  him- 
self with  gloomy  dogmatism,  striking  the  table  with  his  fist,  and 
saying  in  a terrific  voice  1 It  is  so,  and  there’s  an  end  of  it,’  one 
bows  deferentially,  and  submits.  But,  if,  unhappily  for  himself, 
won  by  this  docility,  he  relents  too  amiably  into  reasons  and  argu- 
ments, probably  one  raises  an  insurrection  against  him  that  may 
never  be  crushed  ; for  in  the  fields  of  logic  one  can  skirmish,  per- 
haps, as  Well  as  he.  Had  he  confined  himself  to  dogmatism,  he 
would  have  intrenched  his  position  in  darkness,  and  have  hidden 
his  own  vulnerable  points.  But,  coming  down  to  base  reasons,  he 
lets  in  light,  and  one  sees  where  to  plant  the  blows.  Now,  the 
worshipful  reason  of  modern  France  for  disturbing  the  old  received 
spelling  is  that  Jean  Hordal,  a descendant  of  La  Pucelle's  brother, 
spelled  the  name  Dare  in  1612.  But  what  of  that  ? It  is  notorious 
that  what  small  matter  of  spelling  Providence  had  thought  fit  to 
disburse  amongst  man  in  the  seventeenth  century  was  all  monopo- 
lised by  printers:  now,  M.  Hordal  was  not  a printer.”  — De 
Quincey. 

i : 3.  Lorraine.  At  the  time  of  Joan’s  birth,  Upper  Lorraine  was 
an  independent  duchy  lying  between  France  and  Germany.  In 
1766  it  was  united  with  France,  but  now,  as  a result  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  War  (1870-1871),  it  belongs  in  part  to  the  German  Empire. 

191 


192 


NOTES 


i : 3.  the  Hebrew  shepherd  boy.  David,  whose  inaugural  a<Jt 
(line  9)  was  his  victory  over  Goliath.  See  1 Samuel  xvii. 

i : 20.  the  sceptre  . . . Judah.  “The  sceptre  shall  not  depart 
from  Judah,  nor  a lawgiver  from  between  his  feet,  until  Shiloh 
come.”  — Genesis  xlix.  10. 

2:1.  Domremy.  This  small  village  is  situated  in  northeastern 
France,  in  the  present  Department  of  the  Vosges,  about  one  hun- 
dred andJifty  miles  southeast  of  Paris.  It  is  known  as  Domremy  la 
Pucelle , in  honor  of  the  maid.  Here  may  be  seen  the  house  in 
which  Joan  was  born,  and  in  the  neighborhood  is  the  monument 
erected  to  her  memory  by  the  prefect  of  the  department. 

2 : 2.  Vaucouleurs.  A town  ten  miles  north  of  Domremy. 

2:11.  those  that  share  thy  blood.  “A  collateral  relative  of 
Joanna’s  was  subsequently  ennobled  by  the  title  Du  Lys .” — De 
Quincey.  See,  however,  Historical  Note  on  Joan  of  Arc,  page  1. 

2 : 16.  en  contumace.  This  legal  phrase,  literally  meaning  “ in 
contumacy,”  is  applied  to  an  accused  person  tbaf.  fai1?  to  appear  in 
court  when  summoned. 

2:17.  as  even  yet  may  happen.  De  Quincey 's  prophecy  has 
been  largely  fulfilled  within  recent  years.  In  1904  a Paris  pro* 
lessor  who,  in  his  lecture  room,  attacked  Joan’s  character,  was  re- 
moved by  the  government  under  pressure  of  popular  indignation. 
About  the  same  time  the  Vatican  authorities  at  Rome  announced, 
to  the  delight  of  the  French,  that  Joan  had  passed  the  second  stage 
of  her  canonization  ; it  now  remains  only  that  her  power  to  perforin 
miracles  be  proved  before  she  is  declared  a saint.  In  a very  true 
sense  Joan  has  become  the  French  national  heroine. 

2:27.  pure  in  senses  more  obvious.  An  interesting  comparison 
may  be  made  between  Joan’s  lire  and  that  of  the  Military  Nun. 

2 : 32.  Rouen.  This  important  French  city  is  situated  on  the 
Seine,  some  ninety  miles  northwest  of  Paris.  The  city  square  in 
which  Joan  was  burned  is  now  called  La  Place  de  la  Pucelle , and 
contains  her  statue. 


NOTES 


193 


3 : 3.  until  nature  and  imperishable  truth,  etc.  See  pages  31-32. 

3:11.  the  lilies  of  France.  The  Jleur-de-lys  (lily  flower)  was 
the  royal  emblem  of  France  from  the  time  of  King  Clovis  (465-511) 
till  the  Revolution  of  1789, 

3 : 13.  in  another  century,  etc.  Reference  is  here  made  to  the 
great  French  Revolution  of  1789-1793. 

3:19.  in  the  spring  of  1847.  This  essay  first  appeared  in  Tciitfs 
Magazine  for  March  and  August,  1847.  In  1854  it  was  reprinted 
by  De  Quincey  in  the  third  volume  of  the  Collective  Edition. 

3:  21.  left  till  called  for.  In  England  this  expression  is  in  con- 
stant use  as  applied  to  baggage  stored  for  an  indefinite  period,  let- 
ters sent  to  the  general  delivery,  and  the  like. 

3 : 24.  M.  Michelet.  Jules  Michelet  (1798-1874),  a brilliant  but 
biassed  French  historian.  He  was  professor  at  the  College  Rollin, 
assistant  to  Guizot  at  the  Sorbonne,  tutor  to  the  Princess  Clemen- 
tine, and  finally  professor  in  the  College  de  France.  Having  been 
suspended  from  lecturing  by  the  Orleanist  government  in  1847,  he 
turned  his  attention  thenceforth  entirely  to  literature.  His  master- 
piece is  the  History  of  France  here  under  review. 

3:26.  mad  . . . hares.  This  old  saying  probably  springs  from 
the  fact  that  hares  are  wildest  in  March. 

3 : 27.  recovered  liberty.  As  a result  of  the  Revolution  of  1830 
Charles  X,  the  last  of  the  old  Bourbon  family,  was  forced  to  abdi- 
cate, and  Louis  Philippe,  Duke  of  Orleans,  was  chosen  king  by  the 
will  of  the  people. 

3 : 28.  their  mighty  Revolution.  See  note  on  line  13. 

4:1.  may  introduce  you,  etc.  This  literary  plan  of  De  Quincey ’s, 
like  many  others,  was  never  carried  out. 

4 : 6.  his  worst  book,  etc.  Du  Fretre , de  la  Femme  et  de  la 
Famille  (1844) , a translation  of  which  was  published  at  London  in 
1846. 

4:  8.  “ History  of  France.”  Michelet’s  His  to  ire  de  France  was 
published  at  Paris  (1835-1844)  in  six  volumes.  The  English  trans* 


o 


194 


NOTES 


lation  by  Walter  K.  Kelley  (2  vols.),  with  which  De  Quincey  was; 
familiar,  appeared  in  1844-1846.  The  account  of  Joan  is  to  be 
found  in  Volume  V of  the  original  French,  in  Volume  II  of  the 
translation.  It  should  be  noted  that  Michelet  continued  to  add  to 
his  Histoi'y  until,  in  1867,  the  number  of  volumes  reached  sixteen. 

4 : 13.  the  falconer’s  lure.  A device  resembling  a bird,  some* 
times  bated  with  food,  which  is  used  by  a falconer  to  recall  his 
hawk. 

4 : 26.  on  the  model  of  Lord  Percy,  etc.  The  stanza  here  paro- 
died, which  may  be  found  in  “ The  Modern  Ballad  cf  Chevy  Chace,” 
Percy’s  Beliques , Book  III,  reads  as  follows  in  the  original : — 

“ The  stout  Erie  of  Northumberland 
A vow  to  God  did  make, 

His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 
Three  summers  days  to  take.” 

4 : 31.  delirium  tremens.  As  here  used,  this  expression  is  in- 
tended to  furnish  an  antithesis  to  “simple  delirium,”  line  30. 

5:6.  as  of  old  the  draperies  of  asbestos  were  cleansed.  When 
the  fibres  of  asbestos,  a variety  of  the  hornblende  family  of  min- 
erals, are  woven  into  cloth,  they  form  a fireproof  texture  which,  to 
be  purified,  needs  only  to  be  thrown  into  the  fire.  Gloves,  napery, 
towels,  handkerchiefs,  and  even  dresses  have  been  made  of  this 
cloth.  Legend  tells  us  that  Charlemagne  possessed  an  asbestos 
tablecloth,  which  he  would  throw  into  the  fire  after  dinner,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  his  guests. 

5 : 14.  Pucelle  d’Orleans.  Maid  of  Orleans.  Joan  was  so  called 
because  of  her  relief  of  Orleans,  the  first  important  act  in  her 
career.  See  page  21,  lines  3-8. 

5:20.  only  now  forthcoming  in  Paris.  “In  1847  began  the 
publication  (from  official  records)  of  Joanna’s  trial.  It  was  inter- 
rupted, I fear,  by  the  convulsions  of  1848  ; and  whether  even  yet 
finished  I do  not  know.”  — De  Quincey. 


NOTES 


195 


The  collection  to  which  De  Qnincey  refers  is  the  Proces  de  Con* 
demnation  et  de  Behabilitation  de  Jeanne  $ Arc , dite  La  Pucelle , 
compiled  and  edited  by  Jules  Quicherat  (5  vols.,  Paris,  1841-1849). 

5 : 33.  Hannibal.  This  famous  Carthaginian  commander  (247- 
183  B.c.) , when  nine  years  old,  swore  an  oath  of  eternal  enmity  to 
Rome,  which  he  kept  by  ravaging  Italy  for  fifteen  years.  The 
typical  Roman  estimate  of  Hannibal  may  be  found  in  the  account 
of  the  Second  Punic  War  by  Livy,  who  recognizes  Hannibal’,* 
greatness,  though  lie  fails  to  do  him  full  justice. 

6 : 3.  Mithridates,  etc.  Mithridates,  King  of  Pontus  .( cir . 120- 
63  b.c.),  was  the  most  formidable  enemy  of  Rome  in  Asia  Minor ; 
for  eighteen  years  he  resisted  her  power  with  boundless  energy  and 
hatred,  until  finally  defeated  by  Pompey.  The  latter  buried  his 
body  in  the  royal  sepulchre  at  Sinope,  the  capital  of  Pontus,  thus 
showing  him  the  honor  referred  to  in  the  text. 

6 : 6.  Delenda  est  Anglia  Victrix  ! 4 4 Victorious  England  must  be 
destroyed.”  De  Quincey  here  imitates  the  words  of  the  elder  Cato, 
who  concluded  each  of  his  speeches  before  the  Roman  Senate  with 
the  declaration,  Delenda  est  Carthago , a Carthage  must  be  de- 
stroyed.” 

6:11.  Hyder  Ali.  An  Indian  prince  (cir.  1702-1782)  who  waged 
two  wars  against  the  English.  In  the  first  of  these  he  was  com- 
pletely successful,  but  he  died  suddenly,  before  the  termination  of 
the  second. 

6 : 12.  Tippoo.  Having  succeeded  his  father  as  Sultan  of  Mysore, 
Tippoo  Sahib  (1749-1799)  continued  the  war  against  the  English, 
and  did  not  desist  from  hostilities  even  after  peace  had  been  de~ 
dared.  He  was  finally  slain  in  his  own  capital,  Seringapatam, 
after  a gallant  resistance. 

6 : 12.  Napoleon.  De  Quincey’s  hatred  of  Napoleon,  however, 
is  very  thoroughgoing,  and  is  constantly  coming  to  the  surface  in 
his  writings. 

6 : 14.  this  disposition  amongst  ourselves,  etc.  For  the  Eng- 


196 


NOTES 


lish  opinions  of  these  men  with  which  De  Quincey  was  probably 
familiar,  see  Burke’s  The  Nabob  of  ArcoVs  Debts  (1785)  ; llazlitt’s 
Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  (1828)  ; and  Scott’s  Life  of  Napoleon 
Buonaparte  (1827). 

6 : 19.  Suffren.  Pierre  Andre  de  Suffren  Saint-Tropez  (1726- 
1788)  was  a distinguished  French  naval  officer.  In  1780  he 
captured  twelve  English  merchant  vessels,  and  in  1781  defeated 
Commodore  Johnstone  near  the  Cape  Verde  Islands.  He  was  con- 
certing with  Hyder  Ali  for  the  destruction  of  British  rule  in  the 
East  when  the  conclusion  of  peace  put  an  end  to  their  scheming. 

6:20.  other  French  nautical  heroes.  Count  d’Estaing,  Count 
d’Orvilliers,  Count  de  Guichen,  Count  de  Grasse,  the  Marquis  de 
Bouilffi,  and  the  Duke  de  Criilon  were  among  the  contemporaries 
of  Suffren  who  fought  against  and  won  naval  victories  from  the 
English. 

6 : 25.  the  magnanimous  justice  of  Englishmen.  De  Quincey 
doubtless  has  in  mind  Southey’s  Joan  of  Arc , to  which  he  later 
makes  reference,  rather  than  Shakespeare’s  Henry  VI. 

6:28.  Jean.  “ M.  Michelet  asserts  that  there  was  a mystical 
meaning  at  that  era  in  calling  a child  Jean;  it  implied  a secret 
commendation  of  a child,  if  not  a dedication,  to  St.  John  the  evan- 
gelist, the  beloved  disciple,  the  apostle  of  love  and  mysterious 
visions.  But,  really,  as  the  name  was  so  exceedingly  common, 
few  people  will  detect  a mystery  in  calling  a boy  by  the  name  of 
Jack,  though  it  does  seem  mysterious  to  call  a girl  Jack.  It  may 
be  less  so  in  France,  where  a beautiful  practice  has  always  pre- 
vailed of  giving  a boy  his  mother’s  name  — preceded  and  strength- 
ened by  a male  name,  as  Charles  Anne , Victor  Victoire.  In  cases 
where  a mother’s  memory  has  been  unusually  dear  to  a son,  this 
vocal  memento  of  her,  locked  into  the  circle  of  his  own  name, 
gives  to  it  the  tenderness  of  a testamentary  relique,  or  a funeral 
ring.  I presume,  therefore,  that  La  Pucelle  must  have  borne  the 
baptismal  name  of  Jeanne  Jean ; the  latter  with  no  reference, 


NOTES 


19  7 


perhaps,  to  so  sublime  a person  as  St.  John,  but  simply  to  some 
relative.”  — De  Quincey.  See  Michelet’s  History  of  France , Vol. 
Y,  page  61. 

6 : 29.  Champagne.  This  province,  lying  to  the  west  of  Lor- 
raine, became  one  of  the  French  royal  possessions  in  1314,  and  was 
incorporated  with  the  kingdom  of  France  by  John  the  Good  in  1350. 
Recent  investigations  seem  to  prove,  however,  that  Domrdmy,  in 
Joan’s  day,  was  a part  neither  of  Champagne  nor  of  Lorraine,  but 
belonged  to  the  duchy  of  Bar.  See  Lowell,  Joan  of  Arc , pages 
15-16  and  notes. 

7 : 5.  Champenoise.  A native  of  Champagne.  The  masculine 
form  of  this  word  is  Champenois , as  in  line  7. 

7 : 10.  the  cis  and  the  trans.  The  territories  on  this  side  ( cis ) 
and  on  the  other  side  (trails')  of  the  boundary  line. 

7 : 18.  Germany.  The  German  frontier  was  then  some  fifty 
miles  distant  from  Domremy. 

7 : 20.  St.  Andrew’s  Cross.  So  called  because  of  the  legend  that 
St.  Andrew  suffered  martyrdom  on  a cross  of  this  type. 

7 : 22.  locus.  Point. 

7 : 26.  two  mighty  realms.  44  And  reminding  one  of  that  inscrip- 
tion, so  justly  admired  by  Paul  Richter,  which  a Russian  czarina 
placed  on  a guide-post  near  Moscow : This  is  the  road  that  leads 
to  Constantinople .”  — De  Quincey.  The  realms  referied  to  are, 
of  course,  France  and  Germany. 

7 : 27.  wars  or  rumours  of  wars.  44  And  ye  shall  hear  of  wars 
and  rumours  of  wars.”  — Matthew  xxiv.  6. 

7 : 31.  that  odious  man’s.  See  pages  15-16  for  De  Quincey’s 
feeling  toward  Joan’s  father,  and  the  reasons  thereof. 

8 : 3.  Bar.  The  district  surrounding  the  town  of  Bar-le-Duc, 
thirty-five  miles  northwest  of  Domremy.  This  territory  was  gov- 
erned by  counts  until  1354,  when  it  was  made  a duchy ; thence- 
forth it  usually  followed  the  fortunes  of  Lorraine  See  also  the 
note  on  line  29,  page  6. 


198 


NOTES 


Q : 14.  Cr§cy  . . . Agincourt  . . . Nicopolis.  The  battle  of 

Cr£cy  was  fought  in  1346  between  the  English  forces  under  Ed- 
ward III  and  the  Black  Prince  and  the  French  troops  commanded 
by  the  Count  of  Alengon.  It  resulted  in  a great  English  victory, 
the  French  loss  being  thirty  thousand.  Among  those  killed  were 
Rudolf  of  Lorraine  and  the  Count  of  Bar.  The  victory  of  Agin- 
court was  won  in  1415  by  Henry  V of  England,  over  a French  force 
outnumbering  him  five  to  one,  which  was  commanded  by  D’  Albret. 
Among  the  ten  thousand  Frenchmen  who  lay  dead  on  the  field 
after  the  battle  were  Frederick  of  Lorraine,  the  Duke  of  Bar,  and 
the  latter’s  two  brothers.  At  Nicopolis  (1396)  the  allied  armies  of 
France,  Poland,  and  Hungary,  commanded  by  the  Hungarian  King 
Sigismund,  were  defeated  by  the  Turkish  Sultan  Bajazet  I.  Among 
the  two  thousand  French  nobles  who  took  part  in  this  combat  was 
a third  Duke  of  Lorraine,  whose  fate  is  noted  by  De  Quincey. 

8 : 19.  the  children  of  her  own  house.  See  note  on  line  29, 
page  6. 

8 : 21.  the  Fleurs  de  Lys.  See  note  on  line  11,  page  3. 

8 : 27.  an  old  hereditary  enemy  of  France.  De  Quincey  refers 
here  to  the  German  Empire. 

g : 11.  chambers.  De  Quincey’s  fondness  for  this  word  will 
readily  be  noted  by  the  reader. 

g : 13.  a hundred  and  thirty  years.  Most  of  the  historical  events 
mentioned  by  De  Quincey  in  this  paragraph  occurred  later  than 
the  year  1282,  one  hundred  and  thirty  years  before  Joan’s  birth. 

9 : 14.  in  Joanna’s  childhood.  At  the  time  of  this  combat  she 
was  three  years  old. 

9 : 15.  Poictiers.  Here,  in  1356,  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  with 
some  fourteen  thousand  English  and  Gascons,  defeated  sixty 
thousand  French  under  King  John,  and  took  the  king  and  his  son 
prisoners. 

9 : 25.  Charles  VI.  This  unfortunate  man  was  born  in  1368 
and  died  in  1422.  He  assumed  control  of  France  in  1388,  but  after 


NOTES 


199 


four  years  of  wild  debauchery  became  insane.  During  the  rest  of 
his  reign,  party  strife  raged  with  violence ; see  Historical  Note  on 
Joan  of  Arc , page  xliv. 

9 : 28.  the  wild  story.  This  story  is  told  by  Michelet  in  Book 
VII,  Chapter  III,  of  his  History. 

10  : 5.  The  famines  . . . diseases  . . . insurrections,  etc.  De 
Quincey  probably  has  in  mind  such  famines  as  those  of  1315  and 
1353  in  France  and  England  ; such  pestilences  as  those  that  swept 
over  Europe  in  1347-1348  and  1361-1363  ; and  such  insurrections 
as  the  rise  of  the  Jacquerie  in  France  (1358)  and  Wat  Tyler’s  rebel- 
lion in  England  (1381). 

io  : 9.  The  termination  of  the  Crusades.  The  crusades,  which 
had  as  their  professed  object  the  rescue  of  the  Holy  Land  from  the 
infidels,  came  to  an  end  about  the  year  1271.  According  to  the 
Encyclopaedia  Britannica , “the  ulterior  results  of  the  crusades 
were  the  breaking  up  of  the  feudal  system,  the  abolition  of  serf- 
dom, the  supremacy  of  a common  law  over  the  independent  juris- 
diction of  chiefs  who  claimed  the  right  of  private  wars.” 

io  : 9.  the  destruction  of  the  Templars.  Of  the  military  orders 
founded  in  the  twelfth  century  for  the  defence  of  the  Latin  king- 
dom of  Jerusalem,  that  of  the  Knights  Templars  was  the  most  cele- 
brated. The  wealth,  political  power,  and  unscrupulousness  of 
the  order  led  to  its  suppression  by  the  pope  early  in  the  four- 
teenth century. 

io : 10.  the  Papal  interdicts.  Because  of  some  grave  crime,  a 
whole  nation  might  be  put  under  interdict  by  the  pope.  At  such 
times,  Hallam  tells  us  ( Middle  Ages , Chapter  VII,  Part  1),  “the 
churches  were  closed,  the  bells  silent,  the  dead  unburied,  no  rites 
but  those  of  baptism  and  extreme  unction  performed.”  England 
was  put  under  interdict  by  Alexander  III  in  1170  and  by  Inno- 
cent III  in  1209 ; France,  by  Innocent  III  in  1200. 

io  : 11.  the  tragedies  ...  Emperor.  “The  emperor  is  Kon- 
radin,  the  last  of  the  Hohenstaufen,  beheaded  by  Charles  of  Anjou 


200 


NO  TES 


at  Naples,  12G8.  The  subsequent  cruelties  of  Charles  in  Sicily 
caused  the  popular  uprising  known  as  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  1282 
in  which  many  thousands  of  Frenchmen  were  assassinated.’' — Hart. 

io  : 14.  the  colossal  figure  of  feudalism,  etc.  The  feudal  sys- 
tem depended  for  its  existence  upon  the  superiority  of  the  mounted 
knight  to  the  unmounted  yeoman  ; at  Cr6cy,  however,  the  English 
archers  were  victorious  over  the  French  knights.  Thus  Green  is 
justified  in  saying  ( History  of  the  English  People , Book  IV,  Chap- 
ter II)  that  this  battle  caused  “the  ruin,  at  a single  blow,  of  a 
system  of  warfare,  and  with  it  of  the  political  and  social  fabric 
which  had  risen  out  of  that  system.” 

io  : 18.  a double  pope.  From  1378  to  1418  two  rival  popes, 
Urban  VI  and  Clement  VII  held  their  courts,  the  one  at  Rome, 
the  other  at  Avignon  in  France. 

10  : 23.  the  Church  was  rehearsing,  etc.  “De  Quincey  means 
that  all  the  disturbances  in  the  mediaeval  church  were  only  a prepa- 
ration for  the  final  disruption  effected  by  Luther.”  — Hart. 

11  : 12.  dauphin’s.  “ Dauphin  ” is  the  title  of  the  eldest  son  of 
the  French  king,  the  heir  to  the  throne  ; Joan  chose  to  consider 
Charles  VII  as  being  merely  the  dauphin  until  she  had  seen  him 
crowned  and  consecrated  at  Rheims. 

ii  : 18.  the  Roman  martyroiogy.  A history  or  catalogue  of  the 
martyrs  of  the  Roman  Catholic  church.  Many  different  collections 
of  this  sort  were  current  during  the  Middle  Ages. 

ii  : 19.  Misereres.  In  Roman  Catholic  usage,  Miserere  is  the 
name  given  to  Psalm  L of  the  Vulgate  (LI  of  the  Authorized  Ver- 
sion), which  in  Latin  begins  with  the  word  miserere,  have  mercy. 
It  is  a penitential  psalm,  and,  as  set  to  music,  forms  one  of  the 
most  impressive  chants  in  the  Romish  service. 

xi:20.  Te  Deums.  Te  Denm  laudamus,  “We  praise  thee,  O 
God,”  are  the  first  words  of  an  ancient  Latin  hymn  frequently 
sung  on  occasions  of  triumph  and  thanksgiving,  and  used  in  the 
ordinary  Catholic  service  as  an  anthem  of  high  praise. 


NOTES 


201 


11  : 32.  the  licensed  victualler.  The  tavern  keeper. 

12  : 10.  “ Abbeys  . . . Hindoos.”  De  Quincey  seems  here  to  be 
quoting,  very  inexactly,  the  lines  from  Wordsworth’s  Peter  Bell, 
Part  II,  that  run  : — 

“ Temples  like  those  among  the  Hindoos, 

And  mosques,  and  spires,  and  abbey  windows, 

And  castles  all  with  ivy  green.” 

12  : 11.  the  German  Diets.  The  Diet  of  the  German  States  was 
a deliberative  body  of  great  antiquity.  In  character,  it  was  feudal 
rather  than  representative,  and  consequently  declined  in  impor- 
tance after  the  downfall  of  feudalism.  Spiritual  as  well  as  tem- 
poral princes  had  seats  in  the  Diet ; hence  the  influence  of  abbeys. 
See  Michelet,  History  of  France , Book  X,  Chapter  III,  pages  47-48. 

12  : 22.  The  mountains  of  the  Vosges,  etc.  The  Vosges  separate 
Lorraine  from  Alsace,  which  is  now  a part  of  the  German  Empire, 
as  it  was  in  Joan’s  day. 

12  : 25.  have  never  attracted  much  notice,  etc.  It  was  in  the 
campaign  of  1813-1814  that  Napoleon,  fighting  against  great  odds, 
strove  to  protect  France  from  invasion  by  the  Allies  ; his  failure 
resulted  in  the  fall  of  Paris  and  his  own  abdication. 

In  the  Franco-Prussian  war  of  1870,  these  mountains  were  again 
the  scene  of  fierce  fighting. 

12  : 28.  Live  and  let  live,  etc.  This  phrase,  or  its  equivalent, 
forms  a popular  motto  among  the  Germans,  Dutch,  and  Italians, 
as  well  as  the  English. 

12  : 30.  the  Carlo vingian  princes.  Members  of  the  Frankish 
royal  dynasty  or  family,  which  was  supreme  in  France  from  751  to 
987.  It  takes  its  name  from  Charles  ( Karl ) Martel,  Duke  of  the 
Franks  and  Mayor  of  the  Palace,  whose  son,  Pepin,  deposed  the  last 
of  the  Merovingian  rulers  and  made  himself  king. 

12  : 32.  Charlemagne  was  known  to  have  hunted  there.  Charle- 
magne’s love  of  the  chase  is  commented  upon  by  all  his  b?og- 


202 


NOTES 


raphers ; Michelet  (Book  X,  Chapter  III)  is  probably  De  Quincey’s 
authority  for  this  statement  as  to  the  place  of  his  hunting. 

13  : 3.  those  mysterious  fawns,  etc.  In  the  romances  of  the 
Middle  .Ages,  fawns  and  white  hinds  frequently  play  the  part  re- 
ferred to  by  De  Quincey.  A typical  story  of  the  solitary  hunter 
thus  led  astray  is  Marie  de  France’s  Lai  de  Graelent. 

13:4.  that  ancient  stag.  De  Quincey’s  source  for  this  story  of 
Charlemagne  and  the  stag  is  unknown  ; not  even  in  the  very  ex- 
haustive Histoire  Poetique  de  Charlemagne , by  M.  Gaston  Paris,  is 
such  a legend  to  be  found. 

13  : 10.  a marquis.  The  title  44  marquis  ” was  originally  applied, 
as  its  derivation  from  the  Old  High  German  marcha , border,  would 
suggest,  to  the  governor  of  the  marches,  or  frontiers,  of  a kingdom. 

13  : 20.  agreed  with  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  that  a good  deal 
might  be  said  on  both  sides.  This  has  been  charged  against  De 
Quincey  as  a misquotation,  inasmuch  as  at  the  end  of  Spectator 
No.  122,  the  Spectator,  on  being  asked  by  Sir  Roger  whether  a 
tavern  sign  is  not  more  like  himself  than  a Saracen,  replies  44  that 
much  might  be  said  on  both  sides.”  This  remark,  to  be  sure,  was 
made  to  Sir  Roger,  but  it  had  already  been  made  earlier  in  the  day 
by  Sir  Roger,  who  settled  a dispute  between  Will  Wimble  and  Tom 
Touchy  by  using  the  words  that  his  friend  afterward  retorts  upon 
him. 

14:2.  the  political  condition  of  her  country.  Sec  Historical 
Note  on  Joan  of  Arc , pages  xliv-xlv. 

14  : 8.  a woman  called  Haumette.  This  is  evidently  Hauviette, 
the  wife  of  Gerard  de  Sionne.  Her  testimony  at  the  rehabilitation 
of  Joan  is  given  by  Quiclierat  in  Volume  II  of  the  Proces , pages  417- 
419.  Concerning  Joan’s  daily  occupation,  she  said  that,  4 Joan  used 
to  be  occupied  just  as  other  girls  are  ; she*  would  spin  and  attend 
to  the  household  duties,  and  sometimes  she  had  seen  her  keeping 
her  father’s  flocks.’ 

14  : 13.  calls  herself  in  the  Latin  report  Bergereta.  The 


NOTES 


203 


54  Latin  report”  is  the  testimony  of  M.  cle  Gaucourt  at  Joan’s 
rehabilitation  ; he  says  that  she  presented  herself  before  the  king, 
una  pauper  cul  a berg  er  eta.  Berger  eta  is  a late  Latin  form  of  the 
French  word  bergerette , a shepherd-girl. 

14  : 22.  M.  Simond,  in  his  “ Travels.”  .Louis  Simond  (1767- 
1831)  was  a French  traveller  who  lived  for  some  time  in  England, 
where  he  married  an  English  wife  and  acquired  a good  English 
style  in  writing.  He  was  the  author  of  several  volumes  of  travels 
in  both  French  and  English  ; the  work  here  referred  to  is  his 
Journal  of  a Tour  and  Besidence  in  Great  Britain  during  the 
Years  1810-1811 , by  a French  Traveller , 2d  ed.,  with  Appendix , 
1815-1816 , on  France  (2  vols.,  Edinburgh,  1818). 

14  : 23.  hideous  scene.  This  story,  which  De  Quincey  fre- 
quently quotes  with  horror,  will  hardly  surprise  those  who,  in 
Germany,  have  seen  a woman  and  a dog  harnessed  to  the  same 
plough. 

15  : 4.  prsedial.  This  adjective,  now  usually  spelled  predial, 
means  “performing  duties  connected  with  a farm;  attached  to 
farms  or  land.” 

15  : 8.  horny-hoofed.  This  compound  is  analogous  to  the  more 
familiar  horny-handed . 

15  : 15.  as  many  a better  man  than  D’Arc  does.  A very  ambig- 
uous clause. 

15  : 18.  with  Friday  in  Juan  Fernandez.  Robinson  Crusoe’s 
“ man  Friday  ” is  here  referred  to.  It  will  be  remembered  tha: 
De  Foe’s  novel  is  supposedly  based  on  the  experiences  of  Alexan- 
der Selkirk,  who  for  four  years  lived  in  solitude  on  the  island  of 
Juan  Fernandez. 

15  : 23.  the  junior  lords  of  the  admiralty.  The  English  Board 
of  Admiralty  is  a body  of  commissioners  appointed  to  administer 
all  the  affairs  of  the  British  Navy.  As  now  constituted,  it  consists 
of  five  members  : two  civil  or  political  lords,  and  three  naval  or 
sea  lords.  Under  the  lords  are  three  naval  secretaries.  The  first 


204 


NOTES 


civil  lord  and  the  first  naval  lord  are  the  senior  members  of  thi? 
body. 

15  : 27.  the  Revolution.  See  note  on  line  13,  page  3. 

15  : 30.  a Chevalier  of  St.  Louis.  The  order  of  St.  Louis  was 
founded  in  1693  by  Louis  XIV,  for  military  service,  and  con- 
firmed by  Louis  XV  in  1719.  Discontinued  at  the  time  of  the  Rev- 
olution, it  was  reorganized  in  1814  after  the  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons. 

15  1 31.  “Chevalier,  as-tu  donne,”  etc.  “Chevalier,  have  you 
fed  the  hog  ? ” 

16  : 1.  “Ma  fjlle,”  etc.  “My  daughter,  have  you  fed  the 
hog  ?” 

16  : 2.  “Pucelle  d’Orleans,”  etc.  “ Maid  of  Orleans,  have  you 
saved  the  fleurs-de-lys  ? ” 

16  : 3.  an  old  English  copy  of  verses.  De  Quincey  probably 
came  across  this  stanza  in  Mrs.  Piozzi’s  Anecdotes  of  Samuel  John- 
son , LL.D .,  in  which  the  Doctor,  to  lend  point  to  his  criticism  of 
some  verses  by  Lope  de  Vega,  is  made  to  remark  (pages  51-52)  : 
“ . . „ ’Tis  a mere  play  upon  words,  and  you  might  as  well  say 
that 

If  the  man  who  turnips  cries, 

Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 

'Tis  a proof  that  he  had  rather 
Have  a turnip  than  his  father.’ * 

16  : 14.  the  Oriflamme  of  France.  The  ancient  royal  standard, 
which  was  borne  on  a gilded  lance.  It  was  a red  flag,  deeply  split 
at  one  end  into  flame-sliaped  streamers. 

16  : 15.  as  M.  Michelet  suggests.  See  Book  X,  Chapter  I,  pages 
71-72,  of  his  Histonj  of  France. 

16  : 21.  a representative  manifestation  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  etc. 
So  strong  was  the  feeling  of  devotion  to  Mary  at  this  period  that 
Michelet,  in  the  passage  just  referred  to,  feels  himself  justified  in 


NOTES 


205 


saying,  4 4 The  God  of  that  age  was  the  Virgin  much  rather  than 
Christ.”  The  worship  of  the  Virgin  is  technically  known  as 
44  Mariolatry.” 

1 6 : 31.  Southey’s  44  Joan  of  Arc.”  This  was  the  first  noteworthy 
poem  from  the  pen  of  Robert  Southey  (1774-1843),  who,  in  1813, 
became  Poet  Laureate  of  England.  It  is  a blank-verse  epic  in  ten 
books,  and  was  written  during  six  weeks  of  the  author’s  nineteenth 
year.  De  Quincey  criticises  the  poem  more  fully  in  his  essay  on 
Charles  Lamb . 

16 : 32.  Twenty  years  after,  talking  with  Southey.  In  1816 
both  De  Quincey  and  Southey  were  living  in  the  English  Lake 
Country.  They  were  not,  however,  very  congenial  friends. 

17  : 5.  at  Chinon.  This  town  is  beautifully  situated  on  the 
Vienne,  nearly  three  hundred  miles  southwest  of  Domr&ny.  Here 
are  still  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle  in  which  Charles  VII 
resided  after  Paris  had  been  occupied  by  the  English,  and  in  which 
he  first  received  Joan. 

17:8.  coup  d’essai.  First  attempt. 

17  : 13.  Sovereign  Lady  Victoria.  Victoria  was  Queen  of  Eng- 
land from  1837  to  1901. 

17:15.  She  44pricks”  for  sheriffs.  According  to  the  Century 
Dictionary,  the  ceremony  of  pricking  for  sheriffs  is  substantially 
as  follows : The  Lord  Lieutenant  prepares  a list  of  three  persons, 
each  qualified  to  serve  as  sheriff  of  the  county.  This  list  is  then 
sent  to  the  sovereign,  who,  without  looking  at  it,  strikes  a bodkin 
amongst  the  names  ; the  person  whose  name  is  pricked  is  declared 
elected.  It  will  be  noted  that  one , not  two , out  of  three  is  thus 
chosen. 

17:  18.  Lady  of  the  Islands  and  the  Orient.  After  1876  Victo- 
ria’s official  title  was  44  Queen  of  Great  Britain  ana  Ireland  and 
Empress  of  India.”  De  Quincey  anticipates. 

18:  3.  44  On  the  throne,”  etc.  In  later  editions  of  the  poem 
these  lines  read  : — 


206 


NOTES 


" Upon  the  throne 

Let  some  one  take  his  seat  and  personate 
My  presence,  while  I mingle  in  the  train.” 

— Book  III,  lines  208-210. 

18 : 5.  “ the  jewelled  crown  shines  on  a menial’s  head.”  Cour- 
tier's is  substituted  for  menial's  in  the  later  editions.  See  Book  III, 
lines  225-226. 

18  : 5.  Uun  peu  fort.”  A little  too  much;  coming  it  rather 

strong. 

18  : 10.  had  no  crown  for  himself.  Like  Joan,  the  French 
masses  believed  that  Charles  must  be  consecrated  at  Blieims 
before  he  could  really  become  king.  See  note  on  line  12,  page  11. 

1 8 : 12.  Rheims.  This  very  ancient  city  is  situated  in  the  pres- 
ent Department  of  Marne,  about  one  hundred  miles  northeast  of 
Paris.  In  its  celebrated  cathedral  all  the  French  kings,  from 
Philip  II  (1179)  to  Charles  X (1824),  with  three  exceptions,  were 
crowned. 

18  : 17.  beyond  Orleans.  That  is,  beyond  relieving  Orleans. 
See  note  on  line  14,  page  5. 

1 8 : 20.  the  sacred  ampulla.  The  Ampulla  Bemensis,  the  famous 
vessel  containing  the  sacred  oil  with  which  Clovis,  King  of  the 
Franks,  was  anointed  in  496,  and  which  was  used  at  the  corona- 
tion of  every  succeeding  monarch  of  France  down  to  Louis  XVI. 

1 8 : 21.  the  English  bey.  Henry  VI  was  only  nine  months  old 
when,  on  the  death  of  his  father,  Henry  V (1422),  he  was  pro- 
claimed King  of  England  and  France.  At  the  time  of  Joan’s 
appearance  at  Chinon  (1429)  he  was  eight  years  old.  See  Histori- 
cal Note  on  Joan  of  Arc , page  xliv. 

18  : 24.  the  ovens  of  Rheims.  Rheims  was  famous  for  its  bis- 
cuits and  gingerbread. 

1 8 : 30.  “ appalled  the  doctors.”  In  later  editions  we  read 
(Book  III,  line  447),  u The  doctors  stood  astonish’d.” 

19  * 2.  the  speech.  This  now  occupies  lines  410-446  of  Book  III 


NOTES 


207 


Although  revised,  it  is  still  open,  at  least  in  part,  to  De  Quincey’s 
objections. 

19  : 4.  Tindal’s  “Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation.”  Mat- 
thew Tindal,  an  English  jurist  and  deistical  writer  (1657-1733), 
published  his  Christianity  as  old  as  the  Creation , or  the  Gospel 
a Bepublication  of  the  Beligion  of  Nature  in  1730.  Here,  as  in 
Joan’s  speech,  Nature  is  set  above  the  Church  as  a religious 
teacher. 

19:6.  a piracy  a parte  ante.  A premature  piracy  ; the  Latin 
phrase  means  literally  “from  a part  gone  before.” 

19  : 7.  Cottle,  Bristol.  Joseph  Cottle  (1774-1853)  was  a pub- 
lisher and  bookseller  at  Bristol.  He  brought  out  the  first  poems 
of  Southey  and  of  Coleridge  in  1796. 

19  : 12.  both  trials.  That  of  condemnation,  in  1431,  and  that 
of  rehabilitation  in  1455-1456. 

19  : 12.  The  very  best  witness.  Hauviette,  or  Haumette,  is 
here  meant.  She  testified  that  Joanna  “often  blushed  ( habebat 
verecundiam ) because  people  told  her  that  she  was  too  devoted  in 
her  attendance  at  church.”  See  note  on  line  8,  page  14. 

19  : 21.  that  divine  passage  in  “Paradise  Regained.”  Book  I, 
lines  196-205. 

20  : 5.  France  Delivered.  Reminiscent;  of  Jerusalem  Delivered , 
the  title  of  a great  epic  by  the  Italian  poet  Tasso  (1493-1569). 

20  : 10.  passion.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  De  Quincey  uses  the  word 
passion  in  its  primitive  sense  to  denote  the  passive  state  of  suffer- 
ing or  endurance  that  is  the  antithesis  of  action. 

20:  16.  the  law  of  epic  unity.  “It  [the  epic  poem]  should 
have  for  its  subject  a single  action,  whole  and  complete,  with  a 
beginning,  a middle,  and  an  end.  . . . The  beginning  and  the  end 
must  be  capable  of  being  brought  within  a single  view.”  — Aris- 
totle, Poetics , Books  XXIII-XXIY,  Butcher’s  translation 

20  : 20.  a narrative  episode.  “The  epic  . . . can  admit  many 
episodes,  which  serve  to  fill  in  the  pauses  of  the  action,  or  diversify 


208 


NOTES 


the  interest.” —Butcher,  Aristotle's  Theory  of  Poetry,  page 
208.  . It 

21  : 10.  Patay.  A small  village  about  fifteen  miles  northwest  of 
Orleans. 

21  : 10.  Troyes.  A walled  city  something  more  than  one  hun- 
dred miles  northeast  of  Patay. 

21  : 11.  a coup-de-main.  A sudden  attack. 

21  : 13.  Rheims.  Sixty-five  miles  north  of  Troyes. 

21  : 17.  excepting  one  man.  The  one  man  who  supported  Joan 
in  her  forward  movement  was  Ma£on,  the  president  of  the  coun- 
cil. See  Michelet,  Book  X,  Chapter  III,  page  87. 

22  : 4.  discord  amongst  the  uncles  of  Henry  VI.  One  uncle,  the 
Duke  of  Bedford,  was  Regent  of  France,  while  another  uncle,  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester,  and  a great-uncle,  Cardinal  Beaufort,  were 
engaged  in  a bitter  struggle  for  supremacy  in  England.  Each  was 
jealous  of  the  others  and  there  was  constant  friction  between  them. 

22  : 13.  as  M.  Michelet  is  so  happy  to  believe.  While  Michelet 
takes  care  to  emphasize  the  English  animosity  towards  the  Maid 
(Book  X,  Chapter  4,  passim ),  he  really  agrees  with  De  Quincey 
as  to  the  “moving  principle”  of  the  persecution.  See  Book  X, 
Chapter  IV,  pages  111-112. 

22  : 22.  Let  her  enemies  declare.  The  rest  of  this  paragraph  is 
based  on  facts  stated  by  Michelet. 

23  : 1.  “ Nolebat,”  etc.  “She  was  unwilling  to  use  her  sword 
or  to  kill  any  one.” 

23  : 27.  More  than  one  military  plan,  etc.  For  instance,  the 
attack  upon  Paris,  which  she  did  not  wish  to  begin  on  a holyday. 
See  Historical  Note  on  Joan  of  Arc,  page  xlix. 

23  : 30.  Compidgne.  A town  some  fifty-five  miles  northwest  of 
Rheims  and  eighty  east  of  Rouen. 

23  : 31.  whether  through  treacherous  collusion,  etc.  Hume 
(j History  of  England,  Chapter  XX)  says  the  common  opinion 
was  that  the  French  officers,  jealous  of  her  renown,  willingly 


NOTES 


209 


exposed  her  to  this  fatal  accident.  Michelet  thinks  that  she  was 
bargained  for  and  sold. 

24  : 3.  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais.  Pierre  Cauclion.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  the  University  of  Paris  and  early  made  its  rector  (1403). 
After  having  filled  many  other  important  positions,  he  was  ban- 
ished in  1413  because  of  his  adherence  to  the  Burgundian  party, 
but  returned  to  Paris  when  his  friends  were  once  more  in  power, 
and  was  then  made  Conservator  of  the  University  and  Bishop  of 
Beauvais.  After  the  treaty  of  Troyes  he  devoted  himself  to  the 
English  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  further  the  interests  of 
Henry  YI.  He  presided  at  Joan’s  trial  as  bishop  of  the  diocese 
on  the  confines  of  which  she  had  been  made  prisoner. 

24  : 5.  hoping,  by  favour  of  the  English  leaders,  etc.  Cardinal 
Beaufort  had  already  recommended  him  to  the  pope  for  the  arch- 
bishopric of  Rouen.  Though  the  pope  seemed  unfavorably  dis- 
posed, Cauchon  still  hoped  to  receive  the  appointment. 

24  : 6.  Bishop  that  art,  etc.  Suggested  by  Lady  Macbeth’s  com- 
mentary on  the  witches’  prediction  concerning  her  husband : — 

“Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor  ; and  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised.” 

— Macbeth , Act  I,  scene  v,  lines  16-17. 

24 : 8.  a triple  crown.  The  pope’s  tiara,  considered  symbolical 
of  his  temporal  authority.  It  is  a high  cap  of  gold  cloth,  encircled 
by  three  coronets  and  surmounted  by  a mound  and  cross  of  gold. 

24 : 15.  a cat’s-paw.  This  expression,  applied  to  a person  who 
is  employed  to  perform  disgraceful  offices  for  another,  had  its 
origin  in  the  fable  of  the  monkey  that  used  the  paw  of  a cat  to 
draw  roasted  chestnuts  from  the  hot  ashes. 

24 : 24.  even  at  this  day.  In  the  main,  De  Quincey’s  descrip- 
tion of  the  French  method  of  conducting  a trial  still  holds  true. 

25 : 10.  two-edged  questions.  A typical  question  of  this  charac- 


210 


NOTES 


ter  was,  44  Joan,  do  yon  believe  that  you  are  in  a state  of  grace  ?l 
See  Michelet,  Book  X,  Chapter  IV. 

25  : 14.  Dominican.  A member  of  the  order  of  mendicant  friars 
established  by  Domingo  de  Guzman  at  Toulouse  in  1215. 

25 : 14.  an  objection.  De  Quincey’s  memory  is  here  at  fault. 
No  doubt  he  has  in  mind  the  following  passage  from  Michelet 
relative,  not  to  her  trial,  but  to  her  examination  before  the  doctors 
at  Poictiers  : 44  A Dominican  met  her  with  a single  objection,  but 
it  was  one  of  weight:  4Jehanne,  thou  sayest  it  is  God’s  will  to 
deliver  the  people  of  France  ; if  such  is  His  will  He  has  no  need 
of  men-at-arms.’  The  observation  did  not  confound  her.  4 Ah  ! 
mon  Dieu ,’  said  she,  4 the  men-at-arms  will  do  battle,  and  God 
will  give  the  victory’  ” (Book  X,  Chapter  III,  page  66). 

25  : 20.  rude  Mahometan  metaphysics.  Mohammedanism  is 
characterized  by  its  extreme  fatalism,  its  belief  that  God  accom- 
plishes his  purposes  without  availing  himself  of  human  means. 

25  : 22.  Another.  This  question  was  asked  both  at  Poictiers  and 
at  the  trial ; the  questioner  at  Poictiers  was  Friar  S^guin,  professor 
of  theology  in  the  University  of  Poictiers ; at  Rouen  was  Jean 
Beaup^re,  a learned  doctor  of  theology  from  the  University  of 
Paris. 

25  : 27.  a worse  devil.  Jean  Beaup&re,  the  official  examiner,  put 
this  question  to  Joan  on  her  trial. 

25  : 32.  God,  who  clothed  the  flowers  of  the  valleys.  44  Consider 
the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow  ; they  toil  not,  neither  do  they 
spin  ; and  yet  I say  unto  you,  That  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory 
was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these.”  — Matthew  vii.  28-29. 

26  : 3.  Others  succeeded  by  troops.  Jean  de  La  Fontaine,  vice- 
president  of  the  tribunal,  who  succeeded  Beaup&re  as  examiner, 
asked  Joan  the  question  about  leaving  her  parents.  In  Michelet’s 
account  of  the  trial,  however,  there  is  no  attempt  made  to  show  by 
whom  the  different  questions  are  put. 

26  : 7.  for  a less  cause  than  martyrdom,  etc.  44  Therefore  shall  a 


NOTES 


211 


man  leave  his  father  and  his  mother  and  shall  cleave  unto  his  wife.” 

— Genesis  ii.  24. 

26  : 27.  She  knew  she  was  to  die.  Michelet,  however,  believes 
diat  she  expected  to  be  saved  in  some  way  until  the  very  last 
moment. 

27  : 15.  they  are  rising  even  now  in  Paris.  See  note  on  line  20, 
page  5. 

27  : 20.  a Mozart,  or  a Phidias,  or  a Michael  Angelo.  Mozart 
(1756-1791)  was  one  of  the  world’s  greatest  musical  composers; 
Phidias  ( cir . 490-432  b.c.)  was  the  most  noted  sculptor  of  ancient 
Greece ; and  Michael  Angelo  (1475-1564)  was  almost  unrivalled  as 
painter,  sculptor,  and  architect  in  a period  when  Christian  art  had 
reached  its  highest  excellence. 

27  : 24.  from  the  four  winds,  efce.  ^ Home  from  the  four  winds, 
O breath,  and  breathe  upon  these  slain,  that  they  may  live, ’? 

— Ezekiel  xxvii.  9. 

27 : 32.  a greater  thing  than  even  Milton.  John  Milton’s 
(1608-1674)  greatest  work,  the  epic  poem  Paradise  Lost , was 
published  in  1667. 

28 : 2.  Tellurians.  Inhabitants  of  the  earth  (Latin,  tellus ) 
De  Quincey  seems  to  have  coined  this  word. 

28  : 5.  St.  Peter’s.  This  is  the  largest  cathedral  in  Christendom. 
28  : 6.  Luxor.  Luxor  was  one  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  ancient 

Egyptian  city  of  Thebes,  the  ruins  of  which  are  among  the  most 
magnificent  in  the  world. 

28 : 6.  Himalayas.  This  mountain  chain  is  the  loftiest  and  most 
stupendous  on  the  globe. 

28 : 21.  Marie  Antoinette.  This  ill-starred  queen  (1755-1793),  the 
youngest  daughter  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  was  the  wife  of 
Louis  XVI  of  France.  During  the  French  Revolution  she  was 
imprisoned,  given  a mock  trial,  and  guillotined,  — nine  months 
after  her  husband  had  suffered  a like  fate. 

28 : 24.  daughter  of  Caesars.  The  Emperor  of  Germany  (see 


212 


NOTES 


28.  21),  who  ruled  over  the  44  Holy  Roman  Empire,”  was  supposed 
to  be  the  lineal  successor  of  the  ancient  emperors  of  Rome. 

28:26.  Charlotte  Corday  (1768-1793).  Horrified  at  the  mon- 
strous cruelty  of  the  Jacobin  party  during  the  French  Revolution, 
she  resolved  to  rid  her  country  of  one  of  the  leaders  of  this  faction. 
Her  choice  fell  upon  Jean  Paul  Marat,  whom  she  assassinated, 
July  13,  while  he  was  in  his  bath.  Four  days  later  she  was 
guillotined. 

29  : 8.  the  Wednesday  after  Trinity  Sunday.  May  30. 

29  : 17,  the  English  purpose,  etc.  Michelet  thinks  that  the  Eng- 
lish not  only  wished  to  make  the  execution  more  solemn  and  to 
render  it  certain  that  she  could  be  seen  by  all,  but  were  anxious 
also  to  give  the  executioner  no  chance  to  abridge  Joan’s  suffering 
by  killing  her  before  the  flames  should  reach  her  body  (Book  X, 
Chapter  IV,  pages  169-170). 

29  : 24.  he  draws  into  light.  In  reality,  Michelet  quotes  from 
Grafton  as  part  of  a foot-note  on  Joan’s  appearance  when  received 
at  Chinon  (Book  X,  Chapter  III,  page  64,  note  2). 

29  : 26.  Grafton.  Richard  Grafton,  who  flourished  during  the 
sixteenth  century,  was  printer  to  Edward  VI.  His  Chronicle  at 
large , and  me  ere  History  0/  the  Affayres  of  Englande , in  two 
volumes,  appeared  in  1569. 

29  : 27.  a stiffnecked  John  Bull.  44  John  Bull  ” is  the  name  of  a 
character  representing  the  English  nation  in  Arbuthnot’s  satire, 
Lau 1 is  a Bottomless  Pit . Exemplified  in  the  case  of  the  Lord 
Strutt,  John  Bull , Nicholas  Frog , and  Lewis  Baboon  (1712) 
44  A John  Bull  ” now  means  44  a typical  Englishman.” 

29 : 30.  Holinshead.  Raphael  Holinshed  (d.  cir.  1580)  is  best 
known  by  his  Chronicles  of  Englande , Scotlande,  and  Irelande. 
which  furnished  Shakespeare  with  material  for  his  English  his- 
torical plays.  Concerning  Joan  he  says,  44  Of  favour  was  she 
counted  likesome : of  person,  stronglie  made,  and  manlie : 0/ 
courage,  great,  hardie,  and  stout  witliall.” 


/ 


7 


? 


NOTES 


213 


30  : 6.  M.  Michelet’s  candour.  “ Amongst  the  many  ebullitions 
of  M.  Michelet’s  fury  against  us  poor  English  are  four  which  will 
be  likely  to  amuse  the  reader ; and  they  are  the  more  conspicuous 
in  collision  with  the  justice  which  he  sometimes  does  us,  and  the 
very  indignant  admiration  which,  under  some  aspects,  he  grants 
to  us„ 

“1.  Our  English  Literature  he  admires  with  some  gnashing  of 
teeth.  He  pronounces  it  ‘fine  and  sombre,’  but,  I lament  to  add, 
‘sceptical,  Judaic,  Satanic  — in  a word,  antichristian.’  That  Lord 
Byron  should  figure  as  a member  of  this  diabolical  corporation  will 
not  surprise  men.  It  will  surprise  them  to  hear  that  Milton  is  one  of 
its  Satanic  leaders.  Many  are  the  generous  and  eloquent  French- 
men, besides  Chateaubriand,  who  have,  in  the  course  of  the  last 
thirty  years,  nobly  suspended  their  own  burning  nationality,  in 
order  to  render  a more  rapturous  homage  at  the  feet  of  Milton ; 
and  some  of  them  have  raised  Milton  almost  to  a level  with  angelic 
natures.  Not  one  of  them  has  thought  of  looking  for  him  below 
the  earth.  As  to  Shakspere,  M.  Michelet  detects  in  him  a most 
extraordinary  mare’s  nest.  It  is  this  : he  does  ‘ not  recollect  to 
have  seen  the  name  of  God  ’ in  any  part  of  his  works.  On  reading 
such  words,  it  is  natural  to  rub  one’s  eyes,  and  suspect  that  all  one 
has  ever  seen  in  this  world  may  have  been  a pure  ocular  delusion. 
In  particular,  I begin  myself  to  suspect  that  the  word  ‘ la  gloire  * 
never  occurs  in  any  Parisian  journal.  ‘ The  great  English  nation,’ 
says  M.  Michelet,  ‘ has  one  immense  profound  vice  ’ — to  wit, 
‘ pride.’  Why,  really,  that  may  be  true  ; but  we  have  a neighbour 
not  absolutely  clear  of  an  ‘immense  profound  vice,’  as  like  ours 
in  colour  and  shape  as  cherry  to  cherry.  In  short,  M.  Michelet 
thinks  us,  by  fits  and  starts,  admirable,  — only  that  we  are  detest- 
able ; and  he  would  adore  some  of  our  authors,  were  it  not  that  so 
intensely  he  could  have  wished  to  kick  them. 

“2.  M.  Michelet  thinks  to  lodge  an  arrow  in  our  sides  by  a very 
odd  remark  upon  Thomas  & Kemp  is  : which  is,  that  a man  of  any 


214 


NOTES 


conceivable  European  blood  — a Finlander,  suppose,  or  a Zantiote 
— might  have  written  Tom  ; only  not  an  Englishman.  Whether  an 
Englishman  could  have  forged  Tom  must  remain  a matter  of  doubt, 
unless  the  thing  had  been  tried  long  ago.  That  problem  was  inter- 
cepted  forever  by  Tom’s  perverseness  in  choosing  to  manufacture 
himself.  Yet,  since  nobody  is  better  aware  than  M.  Michelet  that 
this  very  point  of  Ivempis  having  manufactured  Kempis  is  furiously 
and  hopelessly  litigated,  three  or  four  nations  claiming  to  have 
forged  his  work  for  him,  the  shocking  old  doubt  will  raise  its  snaky 
head  once  more  — whether  this  forger,  who  rests  in  so  much  dark- 
ness, might  not,  after  all,  be  of  English  blood.  Tom,  it  may  be 
feared,  is  known  to  modern  English  literature  chiefly  by  an  irrev- 
erent mention  of  his  name  in  a line  of  Peter  Pindar’s  (Dr.  Wolcot) 
fifty  years  back,  where  he  is  described  as 

* Kempis  Tom, 

Who  clearly  shows  the  way  to  Kingdom  Come.’ 

Few  in  these  days  can  have  read  him,  unless  in  the  Methodist  ver- 
sion of  John  Wesley.  Amongst  those  few,  however,  happens  to  be 
myself  ; which  arose  from  the  accident  of  having,  when  a boy  of 
eleven,  received  a copy  of  the  Be  Imitatione  Christi  as  a bequest 
from  a relation  who  died  very  young ; from  which  cause,  and  from 
the  external  prettiness  of  the  book,  — being  a Glasgow  reprint  by 
the  celebrated  Foulis,  and  gaily  bound, — I was  induced  to  look 
into  it,  and  finally  read  it  many  times  over,  partly  out  of  some  sym- 
pathy which,  even  in  those  days,  I had  with  its  simplicity  and  devo- 
tional fervour,  but  much  more  from  the  savage  delight  I found  in 
laughing  at  Tom’s  Latinity.  That , I freely  grant  to  M.  Michelet, 
is  inimitable.  Yet,  after  all,  it  is  not  certain  whether  the  original 
was  Latin.  But,  however  that  may  have  been,  if  it  is  possible  that 
M.  Michelet 1 can  be  accurate  in  saying  that  there  are  no  less  than 

1 “ If  M.  Michelet  can  be  accurate  — However,  on  consideration; 
this  statement  does  not  depend  on  Michelet,  The  bibliographer  Barbier 


NOTES 


215 


sixty  French  versions  (not  editions,  observe,  but  separate  versions) 
existing  of  the  Be  Imitatione , how  prodigious  must  have  been  the 
adaptation  of  the  book  to  the  religious  heart  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury ! Excepting  the  Bible,  but  excepting  that  only  in  Protestant 
lands,  no  book  known  to  man  has  had  the  same  distinction.  It  is 
the  most  marvelous  bibliographical  fact  on  record. 

u 3.  Our  English  girls,  it  seems,  are  as  faulty  in  one  way  as  we 
English  males  in  another.  None  of  us  men  could  have  written  the 
Opera  Omnia  of  Mr.  k Kempis  ; neither  could  any  of  our  girls  have 
assumed  male  attire  like  La  Pucelle.  But  why  ? Because,  says 
Michelet,  English  girls  and  German  think  so  much  of  an  inde- 
corum. Well,  that  is  a good  fault,  generally  speaking.  But 
M.  Michelet  ought  to  have  remembered  a fact  in  the  martyrolo- 
gies  which  justifies  both  parties  — the  French  heroine  for  doing, 
and  the  general  choir  of  English  giVls  for  not  doing.  A female  saint, 
specially  renowned  in  France,  had,  for  a reason  as  weighty  as 
Joanna’s  — viz.,  expressly  to  shield  her  modesty  amongst  men — - 
worn  a male  military  harness.  That  reason  and  that  example 
authorised  La  Pucelle  ; but  our  English  girls,  as  a body,  have  sel- 
dom any  such  reason,  and  certainly  no  such  saintly  example,  to 
plead.  This  excuses  them.  Yet,  still,  if  it  is  indispensable  to  the 
national  character  that  our  young  women  should  now  and  then 

has  absolutely  specified  sixty  in  a separate  dissertation,  soixante  tra- 
ductions, amongst  those  even  that  have  not  escaped  the  search.  The 
Italian  translations  are  said  to  be  thirty.  As  to  mere  editions , not 
counting  the  early  MSS.  for  half-a-century  before  printing  was  intro- 
duced, those  in  Latin  amount  to  two  thousand,  and  those  in  French  to 
one  thousand.  Meantime,  it  is  very  clear  to  me  that  this  astonishing 
popularity,  so  entirely  unparalleled  in  literature,  could  not  have  existed 
except  in  Roman  Catholic  times,  nor  subsequently  have  lingered  in  any 
Protestant  land.  It  was  the  denial  of  Scripture  fountains  to  thirsty 
lands  which  made  this  slender  rill  of  Scripture  truth  so  passionately 
welcome. 


216 


NOTES 


trespass  over  the  frontier  of  decorum,  it  then  becomes  a patriotic 
duty  in  me  to  assure  M.  Michelet  that  we  have  such  ardent  females 
amongst  us,  and  in  a long  series : some  detected  in  naval  hospitals 
when  too  sick  to  remember  their  disguise  ; some  on  fields  of  battle ; 
multitudes  never  detected  at  all ; some  only  suspected  ; and  others 
discharged  without  noise  by  war  offices  and  other  absurd  people. 
In  our  navy,  both  royal  and  commercial,  and  generally  from  deep 
remembrances  of  slighted  love,  women  have  sometimes  served  in 
disguise  for  many  years,  taking  contentedly  their  daily  allowance 
of  burgoo,  biscuit,  or  cannon-balls  — anything,  in  short,  digestible 
or  indigestible,  that  it  might  please  Providence  to  send.  One  thing, 
at  least,  is  to  their  credit : never  any  of  these  poor  masks,  with 
their  deep  silent  remembrances,  have  been  detected  through  mur- 
muring, or  what  is  nautically  understood  by  ‘skulking.’  So,  for 
once,  M.  Michelet  has  an  erratum  to  enter  upon  the  fly-leaf  of  his 
book  in  presentation  copies. 

“4.  But  the  last  of  these  ebullitions  is  the  most  lively.  We 
English,  at  Orleans,  and  after  Orleans  (which  is  not  quite  so  extraor- 
dinary, if  all  were  told),  fled  before  the  Maid  of  Arc.  Yes,  says 
M.  Michelet,  you  did:  deny  it,  if  you  can.  Deny  it,  mon  cher  ? 
I don’t  mean  to  deny  it.  Running  away,  in  many  cases,  is  a thing 
so  excellent  that  no  philosopher  would,  at  times,  condescend  to 
adopt  any  other  step.  All  of  us  nations  in  Europe,  without  one 
exception,  have  shown  our  philosophy  in  that  way  at  times.  Even 
people  ‘ qui  ne  se  rendent  pas  ’ have  deigned  both  to  run  and  to  shout 
‘ Sauve  qui  pent ! ’ at  odd  times  of  sunset ; though,  for  my  part,  I 
have  no  pleasure  in  recalling  unpleasant  remembrances  to  brave 
men ; and  yet,  really,  being  so  philosophic,  they  ought  not  to  be 
unpleasant.  But  the  amusing  feature  in  M.  Michelet’s  reproach  is 
the  way  in  which  he  improves  and  varies  against  us  the  charge 
of  running,  as  if  he  were  singing  a catch.  Listen  to  him.  They 
‘ showed  their  backs ,’  did  these  English.  (Hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! three 
times  three!)  ‘ Behind  good  walls  they  let  themselves  be  taken.' 


NOTES 


217 


(Hip,  hip  ! nine  times  nine  !)  They  4 ran  as  fast  as  their  legs  could 
carry  them.'1  (Hurrah  ! twenty -seven  times  twenty-seven  !)  They 
4 ran  before  a girl  ’ ; they  did.  (Hurrah  ! eighty-one  times  eighty- 
one  !)  This  reminds  one  of  criminal  indictments  on  the  old  model 
in  English  courts,  where  (for  fear  the  prisoner  should  escape)  the 
crown  lawyer  varied  the  charge  perhaps  through  forty  counts.  The 
law  laid  its  guns  so  as  to  rake  the  accused  at  every  possible  angle. 
Whilst  the  indictment  was  reading,  he  seemed  a monster  of  crime 
in  his  own  eyes  ; and  yet,  after  all,  the  poor  fellow  had  but  com- 
mitted one  offence,  and  not  always  that.  N.B.  — Not  having  the 
French  original  at  hand,  I make  my  quotations  from  a friend’s 
copy  of  Mr.  Walter  Kelly’s  translation  ; which  seems  to  me  faith- 
ful, spirited,  and  idiomatically  English  — liable,  in  fact,  only  to 
the  single  reproach  of  occasional  provincialisms.”  — De  Quincey. 

30  : 17.  an  opinion  of  his.  See  page  31,  lines  12-14  ; also  Miche- 
let, Book  X,  Chapter  IY,  pages  171-172. 

31  : 10.  seems  to  admire,  etc.  Indeed,  the  general  tone  of 
Michelet’s  account  of  Joan  is  one  of  extreme  admiration. 

31 : 14.  “Whether  she  said,”  etc.  The  words  are  those  of 
Kelly’s  translation  of  Michelet,  Volume  II,  page  581 ; the  italics 
are  De  Quincey’s. 

31 : 18.  a priori  principles.  Those  involved  in  the  process  of 
reasoning  from  general  statements  to  particular  facts. 

31  : 20.  ergo.  Therefore. 

31 : 24.  onus.  Burden. 

31 : 27.  weight  of  metal.  Compare  the  use  of  the  word  metal  to 
denote  the  weight  of  solid  shot  a vessel’s  guns  can  throw  at  once. 

31  : 32.  “ten  thousand  men  wept.”  For  this  and  the  following 
facts  connected  with  the  execution,  Michelet,  Book  X,  Chapter  IV, 
pages  173-176,  is  De  Quincey’s  authority. 

32  : 24.  though  one  should  rise  from  the  dead.  44  And  he  said 
unto  him,  If  they  hear  not  Moses  and  the  prophets,  neither  will 
they  be  persuaded,  though  one  rose  from  the  dead.  ” — Luke  xvi.  31. 


218 


NOTES 


32  : 26.  thou  upon  a down  bed.  History  tells  us,  however,  that 
he  died  suddenly  (1443),  while  being  shaved.  Some  years  later 
his  remains  were  dug  up  by  the  people  and  thrown  into  a sewer. 

33  : 15.  the  minutes  of  dreams,  etc.  De  Quincey  says  of  his 
own  opium  dreams  : “I  sometimes  seemed  to  have  lived  for  seventy 
or  one  hundred  years  in  one  night ; nay,  sometimes  had  feelings 
representative  of  a millennium,  passed  in  that  time,  or,  however, 
of  a duration  far  beyond  the  limits  of  any  human  experience.”  — 
Confessions , Works  (Popular  Edition),  Volume  I,  page  111. 

33  : 16.  the  bliss  of  childhood.  The  fact  that  De  Quincey’s 
dreams  often  revived  “the  minutest  incidents  of  childhood  ” may 
have  suggested  this  feature  of  Joan’s  vision. 

33  : 27.  victoriously  she  had  tasted  the  stings  of  death.  “ Then 
shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is  written,  Death  is  swal- 
lowed up  in  victory.  O death,  where  is  thy  sting?  0 grave, 
where  is  thy  victory  ? ” — 1 Corinthians  xv.  54-55. 

33  : 30.  amidst  the  drums  and  trumpets  of  armies.  De  Quincey 
must  be  taken  as  meaning  armies  of  martyrs,  since,  though  many 
English  soldiers  were  present  in  the  market-place,  there  was  no 
regular  military  formation  at  Joan’s  execution. 

34  : 25.  Regent  of  France.  John,  Duke  of  Bedford.  See  note 
on  line  4,  page  22. 

34  : 26.  my  Lord  of  Winchester,  etc.  Cardinal  Beaufort,  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  the  great-uncle  of  Henry  VI.  He  was  one  of  the 
most  powerful  and  unscrupulous  of  the  English  leaders,  and  in 
England  was  practically  king.  Before  Joan’s  trial  he  took  up  his 
residence  at  Rouen,  in  order  to  oversee  and  direct  the  proceedings. 
In  2 Henry  FT,  Act  III,  Scene  iii,  lines  27-29,  Shakespeare  makes 
the  king  say  to  the  dying  cardinal : — 


" Lord  cardinal,  if  thou  think’st  on  heaven’s  bliss, 
Hold  up  thy  hand,  make  signal  of  thy  hope. 

He  dies  and  makes  no  sign.  0 God,  forgive  him.” 


NOTES 


219 


35  : 6.  in  heaven  above,  or  on  earth  beneath.  Cf.  Exodus  xx.  4. 

35  : 7.  take  a brief  from  me.  To  take  a brief  is  to  accept  the 
conduct  of  a case. 

35  : 12.  Who  is  this,  etc.  An  imitation  of  Isaiah  lxiii.  1, 
u Who  is  this  that  cometh  from  Edom,  with  dyed  garments  from 
Bozrah  ? ” 

35  : 13.  bloody  coronation  robes  from  Rheims.  The  exact  mean- 
ing of  this  expression  is  unclear.  Joan  is  supposed  to  have  worn 
at  the  coronation  her  armor,  which  may  well  have  been  bloody. 
But  perhaps  De  Quincey  merely  wishes  to  emphasize  the  fact  that 
Joan  shed  her  blood  to  bring  about  the  coronation  of  Charles. 

THE  ENGLISH  MAIL-COACH 

36.  Title,  The  English  Mail-Coach.  Blackwood's  Magazine 
for  October,  1849,  contained  an  article  by  De  Quincey  entitled 
uThe  English  Mail-Coach,  or  the  Glory  of  Motion.”  This  was 
followed  in  December  by  another  article  in  two  sections,  the  one 
called  44  The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death,”  and  the  other,  “ Dream- 
Fugue,  founded  on  the  preceding  theme  of  Sudden  Death,”  the 
two  prefaced  by  a paragraph  explaining  their  connection  with  the 
preceding  article.  For  the  Collective  Edition  (1854)  of  his  writings, 
De  Quincey  very  carefully  revised  these  articles  and  unified  them 
under  their  present  title  and  sub-titles. 

36  : 2.  Some  twenty  or  more  years  before  I matriculated  at 
Oxford.  In  1803  De  Quincey  entered  Worcester  College,  and  his 
name  remained  on  the  college  books  until  1810.  The  chapter  of 
his  Autobiographic  Sketches  entitled  44  Oxford,”  which  the  student 
should  certainly  read,  contains  an  interesting  account  of  his  ma- 
triculation and  residence  at  the  great  English  university. 

36  : 2.  Mr.  Palmer.  44  Mr.  John  Palmer,  a native  of  Bath,  and 
from  about  1768  the  energetic  proprietor  of  the  Theatre  Royal  in 
that  city,  had  been  led,  by  the  wretched  state  in  those  days  of  the 


220 


NOTES 


means  of  intercommunication  between  Bath  and  London,  and  hi 
own  consequent  difficulties  in  arranging  for  a punctual  succession 
of  good  actors  at  his  theatre,  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  improve- 
ment of  the  whole  system  of  Post-Office  conveyance,  and  of  loco- 
motive machinery  generally,  in  the  British  Islands.  The  result 
was  a scheme  for  superseding,  on  the  great  roads  at  least,  the  then 
existing  system  of  sluggish  and  irregular  stage-coaches,  the  prop- 
erty of  private  persons  and  companies,  by  a new  system  of  govern- 
ment coaches,  in  connexion  with  the  Post-Office,  carrying  the  mails, 
and  also  a regulated  number  of  passengers,  with  clock-work  pre- 
cision, at  a rate  of  comparative  speed,  which  he  hoped  should 
ultimately  be  not  less  than  ten  miles  an  hour.  The  opposition  to 
the  scheme  was,  of  course,  enormous ; coach-proprietors,  inn- 
keepers, the  Post-Office  officials  themselves, ' were  all  against  Mr. 
Palmer  ; he  was  voted  a crazy  enthusiast  and  a public  bore.  Pitt, 
however,  when  the  scheme  was  submitted  to  him,  recognised  its 
feasibility;  on  the  8th  of  August  1784  the  first  mail-coach  on  Mr. 
Palmer’s  plan  started  from  London  at  8 o’clock  in  the  morning 
and  reached  Bristol  at  11  o’clock  at  night ; and  from  that  day  the 
success  of  the  new  system  was  assured.  — Mr.  Palmer  himself,  hav- 
ing been  appointed  Surveyor  and  Comptroller-General  of  the  Post- 
Office,  took  rank  as  an  eminent  and  wealthy  public  man,  M.P.  for 
Bath  and  what  not,  and  lived  till  1818.  De  Quincey  makes  it  one 
of  his  distinctions  that  he  4 had  married  the  daughter  of  a duke  ’ ; 
and  in  a footnote  to  that  paragraph  he  gives  the  lady’s  name  as 
4 Lady  Madeline  Gordon.’  From  an  old  Debrett,  however,  I learn 
that  Lady  Madelina  Gordon,  second  daughter  of  Alexander,  fourth 
Duke  of  Gordon,  was  first  married,  on  the  3d  of  April  1789,  to  Sir 
Robert  Sinclair,  Bart.,  and  next,  on  the  25th  of  November  1805,  to 
Charles  Palmer , of  Lockley  Park , Berks , Esq.  If  Debrett  is  right, 
her  second  husband  was  not  the  John  Palmer  of  Mail-Coach  celeb- 
rity, and  De  Quincey  is  wrong.”  — Masson. 

36  : 4.  eccentric.  The  pun  will  at  once  be  evident. 


NOTES 


221 


36:  6.  the  daughter  of  a duke.  “Lady  Madeline  Gordon.”  — 

De  Quincey.  But  see  note  on  line  2. 

36  : 7.  Galileo.  The  great  Florentine  astronomer  (1564-1642), 
whose  discoveries  brought  about  a new  era  in  experimental  science. 
Because  he  believed  in  the  astronomical  system  of  Copernicus,  he 
was  imprisoned  at  the  age  of  seventy  and  hailed  before  the  Inquisi- 
tion to  answer  for  his  heresies.  The  sentence  of  indefinite  im- 
prisonment passed  upon  him  was  commuted  by  Pope  Urban  into 
permission  to  reside  at  Sienna  and  Florence,  where  his  last  years 
were  passed  in  retirement.  The  discovery  of  the  satellites  of  Jupi- 
ter took  place  on  the  night  of  January  7,  1610. 

36  : 8.  the  same  thing.  “Thus,  in  the  calendar  of  the  Church 
Festivals,  the  discovery  of  the  true  cross  (by  Helen,  the  mother  of 
Constantine)  is  recorded  (and,  one  might  think,  with  the  express 
consciousness  of  sarcasm)  as  the  Invention  of  the  Cross.”  — De 
Quincey. 

36  : 11.  who  did  not  marry,  etc.  Galileo  was  never  legally 
married. 

36  : 22.  vast  distances.  “One  case  was  familiar  to  mail-coach 
travellers  where  two  mails  in  opposite  directions,  north  and  south, 
starting  at  the  same  minute  from  points  six  hundred  miles  apart, 
met  almost  constantly  at  a particular  bridge  which  bisected  the 
total  distance.”  — De  Quincey. 

37  : 5.  as  by  some  mighty  orchestra,  etc.  For  De  Quincey’s 
views  on  music  in  general  and  orchestral  music  in  particular,  see 
the  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater,  Works  (Popular 
Edition),  Volume  I,  pages  75-77. 

37  : 11.  like  the  opening  of  apocalyptic  vials.  In  the  Book  of 
Revelation,  sometimes  called  the  Apocalypse,  Chapter  xvi,  we 
read  of  the  pouring  out  of  the  “ seven  golden  vials  full  of  the  wrath 
of  God.” 

37 : 11.  heart-shaking.  De  Quincey  is  very  fond  of  the  com- 
pounds heart-shaking  and  heart-shattering . 


222 


NOTES 


37  : 12.  Trafalgar.  Off  Cape  Trafalgar,  on  the  coast  of  Spain^ 
Admiral  Nelson  won  his  last  and  most  celebrated  victory  (Octo- 
ber 21, 1805)  against  the  combined  French  and  Spanish  fleets. 

37  : 12.  Salamanca.  In  the  vicinity  of  this  Spanish  town,  Wel- 
lington defeated  the  French  under  Marmont,  July  22,  1812. 

37  : 12.  Vittoria.  The  battle  of  Yittoria,  fought  between  Wel- 
lington and  the  French  under  Joseph  Bonaparte  and  Jourdan  on 
June  21,  1813,  resulted  in  a decisive  English  victory,  in  conse- 
quence of  which  the  French  withdrew  from  Spain. 

37:12.  Waterloo.  “That  world-earthquake,  Waterloo,”  by 
which  the  power  of  the  great  Napoleon  was  forever  annihilated, 
was  fought  on  June  18,  1815,  between  the  Allies  under  Wellington 
and  the  French  under  the  Emperor  himself. 

37  : 21.  Te  Deums.  See  note  on  line  20,  page  11. 

37  : 23.  at  such  a crisis  of  general  prostration.  From  1804  to 
1812,  roughly  speaking,  France  under  Napoleon  was  supreme  in 
Europe. 

37 : 26.  not  more  beneficial  to  ourselves,  etc.  Even  in  recent 
years  a history  of  the  wars  of  1793-1815  has  appeared  under  the 
title,  How  England  saved  Europe. 

37  : 32.  In  most  universities  there  is  one  single  college.  “ Else- 
where,” as  De  Quincey  says  in  his  Autobiographic  Sketches  ( Works, 
Vol.  II,  page  516),  “the  university  is  a single  college  and  this  col- 
lege is  the  university.  But  in  Oxford  the  university  expresses,  as 
it  were,  the  army,  and  the  colleges  express  the  several  brigades 
or  regiments.”  In  other  words,  at  the  American,  Scotch,  and 
German  universities  the  instruction  is  given  almost  entirely  by  the 
university  professors,  and  there  are  no  separate  colleges,  each 
with  its  own  private  teachers  and  practically  complete  in  itself. 

Though  changes  have  been  made,  the  Oxford  of  the  present  day 
is  substantially  as  it  was  in  De  Quincey’s  time.  At  one  of  the 
twenty-one  colleges  or  four  halls  the  student  must  matriculate, 
having  first  passed  the  college  entrance  examination.  On  being 


NOTES 


223 


received,  the  undergraduate  is  usually  assigned  to  one  of  the  tutors 
of  his  college,  but  he  may  also  attend  the  classes  of  other  college 
tutors  and  lecturers,  as  well  as  of  the  university  professors.  Be- 
sides this,  he  may,  if  he  wishes,  read  with  a private  tutor.  After 
keeping  the  necessary  number  of  terms,  he  comes  up  for  the  vari- 
ous university  examinations  for  which  his  college  has  prepared 
him.  Until  1852  the  professorate  of  the  university  was  almost 
purely  ornamental ; at  present,  however,  the  lectures  by  the  uni- 
versity professors  are  much  more  generally  attended. 

37 : 33.  in  Oxford  there  were  five-and-twenty.  De  Quincey 
(. Autobiographic  Sketches , pages  516-517)  gives  a list  of  the  vari- 
ous colleges  at  Oxford  in  1832  ; these  number,  however,  only 
twenty-four. 

38  : 5.  the  four  terms  of  Michaelmas,  Lent,  Easter,  and  Act. 

Michaelmas  Term,  which  takes  its  name  from  the  feast  of  the 
Archangel  Michael,  observed  on  September  29,  extends  from  Octo- 
ber 10  to  December  17  ; Lent  Term,  now  called  Hilary  Term,  from 
January  14,  St.  Hilary’s  Day,  to  the  Saturday  before  Palm  Sunday  ; 
Easter  Term,  from  Wednesday  in  Easter  week  to  Friday  before 
Whitsunday  ; Act,  now  known  as  Trinity  Term,  from  Saturday 
before  Whitsunday  to  Saturday  after  the  first  Tuesday  in  July. 
The  following  passage  from  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  (3d  ed., 
1797)  will  explain  the  name  formerly  given  to  the  last  of  these  terms: 
“ Act,  in  the  universities,  signifies  a thesis  maintained  in  public  by 
a candidate  for  a degree,  or  to  show  the  capacity  and  proficiency 
of  a student.  ...  At  Oxford,  the  time  when  masters  or  doctors 
complete  their  degrees  is  also  called  the  act;  which  is  held  with 
great  solemnity.  At  Cambridge  they  call  it  the  commencement .” 

At  present,  in  many  colleges  at  Oxford,  undergraduates  keep 
Michaelmas  and  Hilary  terms  by  six  weeks’  residence  each,  and 
Easter  and  Trinity  by  three  weeks’  each  ; but  other  colleges  re- 
quire a longer  period  of  residence,  twenty -four  weeks  being  the 
average  length  of  the  academic  year. 


224 


NOTES 


38  : 16.  Worcester  . . . Gloucester  . . . Holyhead  mail.  A\ 

these  places  are  situated  to  the  northwest  of  London ; coaches 
bound  for  them  naturally  passed  through  Oxford. 

38:18.  revolved.  “ Revolve  was  a favourite  word  with  De  Quin- 
cey, in  the  sense  of  4 return,’  4 come  back.’  ” — Masson. 

38  : 21.  posting-houses.  Houses  or  hotels  at  which  relays  of 
horses  could  be  obtained. 

38  : 29.  an  old  tradition  . . . from  the  reign  of  Charles  II  (1600- 
1684).  “Then  no  one  sat  outside;  later,  outside  places  were 
taken  by  servants,  and  were  quite  cheap.”  — Turk. 

38  : 32.  delf-ware.  Earthenware  made  at  Delft,  in  Holland.  It 
is  much  coarser  than  porcelain. 

38 : 33.  attaint.  To  attaint  is  to  stain,  disgrace.  By  old  Eng- 
lish law  any  one  found  guilty  of  treason  or  felony  was  declared 
to  be  attainted,  which  judgment  implied  that  his  blood  was  cor- 
rupted. This  corruption  of  blood  could  not  be  effectually  removed 
except  by  authority  of  Parliament, 

39  : 6.  Pariahs.  Professor  Masson  points  out  that  this  word, 
in  the  sense  of  “social  outcast,”  was  a great  favorite  with  De 
Quincey. 

39  : 19.  salle-a-manger.  Dining  room. 

39:32.  the  maxim  that,  etc.  “ De  non  apparentibus , etc.”  — 
De  Quincey.  This  legal  axiom  reads  in  full,  De  non  apparentibus 
et  non  existentibus  eadem  est  lex  : “ The  same  law  obtains  for  things 
not  appearing  as  for  things  not  existing.” 

40:6.  “raff.”  Worthless  persons;  the  sweepings  of  society; 
the  rabble.  The  Century  Dictionary  says  that  this  word  is  44  now 
applied  to  students  of  Oxford  by  the  townspeople.”  Seemingly 
the  reverse  was  true  in  De  Quincey ’s  day. 

40  ; 7.  44  snobs.”  44  Snobs , and  its  antithesis,  nobs , arose  among 
the  internal  factions  of  shoemakers  perhaps  ten  years  later.  Pos- 
sibly enough,  the  terms  may  have  existed  much  earlier ; but  they 
were  then  first  made  known,  picturesquely  and  effectively,  by  a 


NOTES 


225 


trial  at  some  assizes  which  happened  to  fix  the  public  attention.” 
— De  Quincey. 

As  an  economic  term,  s?iob  is  the  name  of  a shoemaker  in  par- 
ticular, and,  in  general,  of  any  one  who  works  for  lower  wages 
than  his  fellows  or  refuses  to  strike  with  them.  As  a piece  of  uni- 
versity slang,  it  means  a townsman  as  opposed  to  a gownsman. 
As  generally  used  in  literature,  it  denotes  one  who  vulgarly  apes 
gentility  by  being  servile  to  superiors  and  insolent  to  inferiors. 
Nob  (a  member  of  the  aristocracy,  a swell)  is  the  “antithesis”  of 
snob  in  the  second  and  third  of  these  senses,  but,  so  far  as  present 
usage  is  concerned,  not  in  the  first,  whatever  may  have  been  the 
case  in  De  Quincey’ s day.  See  Century  Dictionary  under  snob , 
nob , and  knob. 

40  : 12.  annoyances  incident  to  the  pit  or  gallery.  De  Quincey 
himself  always  sat  in  the  gallery.  See  Confessions , Works  (Popular 
Edition),  Volume  I,  page  75. 

41  : 1.  attics  . . . garrets.  The  use  of  these  words  in  the  plural 
form  with  singular  meaning  is  rare  in  English  literature,  though 
other  examples  might  easily  be  quoted.  See  Arbuthnot’s  John 
Bull , Tennyson’s  The  Goose , etc. 

41  : 6.  jump.  Agree,  coincide  ; a Shakespearian  use  of  the  word. 

41  : 7.  the  celestial  intellect  of  China.  China  is  commonly 
knowm  as  the  Celestial  Empire,  a name  probably  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  reigning  dynasty  is  always  spoken  of  as  Tien-chao , or 
Heavenly  Dynasty. 

41  : 10.  George  III.  King  of  England  from  1760  to  1820. 

41  : 11.  Pekin.  This,  one  of  the  largest  cities  in  the  world,  has 
been  the  capital  of  the  Chinese  Empire  since  1421. 

41  : 12.  Lord  Macartney.  George  Macartney,  Earl  of  Macart- 
ney (1737-1806),  was  appointed  Ambassador  Extraordinary  to 
Pekin  in  1792.  He  remained  in  China  until  1794.  As  De  Quincey 
notes,  this  was  England’s  first  diplomatic  communication  with  tb» 
Chinese  court. 


226 


NOTES 


41  : 17.  the  Emperor.  Keen  Lung  was  Emperor  of  China  from 
1735  to  1795.  He  was  noted  both  as  a warrior  and  as  a man  of 
letters. 

41  : 17.  The  hammer-cloth.  The  cloth  that  covers  the  driver’s 

seat. 

41  : 20.  was  nearest  to  the  moon.  The  moon  is  one  of  the  ob* 
jects  to  which  the  Chinese  Emperor  and  his  court  offer  sacrifices  in 
their  ceremonial  state  worship. 

41  : 26.  the  first  lord  of  the  treasury.  This,  as  well  as  other 
official  English  titles,  is  used  in  the  present  description  to  produce 
a humorous  effect. 

41  : 28.  the  whole  flowery  people.  Since  one  of  the  Chinese 
names  for  the  country  is  Chung  Hwa  Kwoh,  “Middle  Flowery 
Kingdom,”  China  is  often  called  “The  Flowery  Kingdom.” 

42  : 8.  jury-reins.  Temporary  reins.  The  word  was  formed  by 
De  Quincey  after  the  analogy  of  jury-mast , a nautical  term  mean- 
ing “a  temporary  mast.”  In  the  same  way  sailors  call  a wooden 
leg  a jury -l eg. 

42  : 17.  Fi  Fi.  “ This  paragraph  is  a caricature  of  a story  told 
in  Staunton’s  Account  of  the  Earl  of  Macartney's  Embassy  to 
China  in  1792."  — Masson. 

42  : 20.  French  Revolution.  See  note  on  line  13,  page  3. 

42  : 21.  ga  ira.  “ It  will  succeed.  ” These  words  are  said  to  have 
been  used  by  Benjamin  Franklin  in  speaking  of  the  American 
Revolution;  later  they  suggested  the  refrain  (u  Ah  qa  ira , Qa  ira, 
qa  ira")  of  the  “ Qa  ira,”  one  of  the  famous  songs  sung  by  the 
populace  during  the  French  Revolution. 

42  : 24.  the  chief  seats  in  synagogues.  We  are  told  of  the 
scribes  ( Mark  xii.  39)  that  they  loved  “the  chief  seats  in  the  syna- 
gogues.” 

43  : 2.  all  morality,  — Aristotle’s,  Zeno’s,  Cicero’s,  etc.  Aristotle 
(384-322  b.c.)  was  the  author  of  the  Nicomacliean  Ethics , and 
founded  the  Peripatetic  school  of  philosophy.  Zeno  (4th  and  3d 


NOTES 


227 


centuries  b.c.),  the  founder  of  the  Stoic  school  so  popular  among 
the  Romans,  taught  a moral  system  of  extreme  austerity.  Cicero 
(106-43  b.c.)  was  the  author  of  several  ethical  treatises,  of  which 
the  most  noted  is  the  De  Officiis  ; in  philosophy  he  was  an  Eclectic. 

43  : 8.  sur-rebribed.  This  word,  coined  by  De  Quincey  after  the 
analogy  of  the  legal  terms  sur-rebut , sur-rejoin,  means  “bribed 
for  the  third  time  and  by  the  party  first  bribing.” 

43  : 10.  a contested  election.  In  England  this  phrase  is  applied 
to  an  election  involving  a contest  at  the  polls,  and  not  to  one  the 
result  of  wThich  is  disputed,  as  the  words  might  suggest  to  an 
American. 

43  : 22.  the  British  Museum.  This  celebrated  national  institu- 
tion was  first  opened  in  1759 ; its  present  buildings,  however,  have 
been  erected  since  1823. 

43  : 26.  noters  and  protesters.  A protester  appears  before  a 
notary  to  fix  the  liability  of  the  drawer  or  endorser  of  a note. 
Now,  the  Scotch  word  for  notary  is  notar ; De  Quincey,  having 
this  in  mind,  evidently  uses  the  word  noters  to  mean  not  those 
who  make  notes,  but  notaries. 

43  : 28.  the  house  of  life.  One  of  the  twelve  parts  into  which 
astrologers  divided  the  visible  and  invisible  heavens  when  attempt- 
ing to  forecast  the  course  of  one’s  life  by  the  position  of  the  stars 
at  one’s  birth. 

* 

43  : 30.  posse.  The  posse  comitatus  (literally,  “accompanying 
power”)  is  the  body  of  men  that  a sheriff  may  call  to  his  assist- 
ance. 

44  : 9.  Von  Troil’s  Iceland.  “The  allusion  is  to  a well-known 
chapter  in  Von  Troil’s  work,  entitled,  4 Concerning  the  Snakes  of 
Iceland.’  The  entire  chapter  consists  of  these  six  words  — i There 
are  no  snakes  in  Iceland.'1  ” — De  Quincey. 

De  Quincey’ s reference,  however,  is  incorrect ; it  should  be  to 
Neil  Horrebow’s  Natural  History  of  Iceland , of  which  an  English 
translation  appeared  in  1758.  Chapter  LXX II  runs  : “ Concerning 


228 


NOTES 


snakes.  No  snakes  of  any  kind  are  to  be  met  with  throughout  to* 
whole  island.”  Von  Troil’s  Letters  on  Iceland  (1780)  contains  no 
such  passage.  See  Notes  and  Queries , 8th  Series,  Volume  I, 

page  183. 

44 : 10.  a parliamentary  rat.  A member  of  Parliament  who 
goes  over  from  his  own  party  to  the  opposition,  in  order  to  gain 
some  personal  advantage. 

44:16.  a forbidden  seat.  “The  very  stemest  code  of  rules 
was  enforced  upon  the  mails  by  the  Post-office.  Throughout  Eng- 
land, only  three  outsides  were  allowed,  of  whom  one  was  to  sit 
on  the  box,  and  the  other  two  immediately  behind  the  box  ; none, 
under  any  pretext,  to  come  near  the  guard ; an  indispensable  cau- 
tion ; since  else,  under  the  guise  of  a passenger,  a robber  might  by 
any  one  of  a thousand  advantages  — which  sometimes  are  created, 
but  always  are  favoured,  by  the  animation  of  frank  social  inter- 
course— have  disarmed  the  guard.  Beyond  the  Scottish  border, 
the  regulation  was  so  far  relaxed  as  to  allow  of  four  outsides,  but 
not  relaxed  at  all  as  to  the  mode  of  placing  them.  One,  as  before, 
was  seated  on  the  box,  and  the  other  three  on  the  front  of  the 
roof,  with  a determinate  and  ample  separation  from  the  little  insu- 
lated chair  of  the  guard.  This  relaxation  was  conceded  by  way  of 
compensating  to  Scotland  her  disadvantages  in  point  of  population. 
England,  by  the  superior  density  of  her  population,  might  always 
count  upon  a large  fund  of  profits  in  the  fractional  trips  of  chance 
passengers  riding  for  short  distances  of  two  or  three  stages.  In 
Scotland  this  chance  counted  for  much  less.  And  therefore,  to 
make  good  the  deficiency,  Scotland  was  allowed  a compensator}7 
profit  upon  one  extra  passenger.”  — De  Quincey. 

44  : 19.  laesa  majestas.  Lese-majesty,  a crime  committed  against 
the  sovereign  power  in  a state. 

44:31.  “Jam  proximus,”  etc.  “Now  next  (the  house  of* 
Ucalegon  blazes.”  — JEneid , Book  II,  lines  311-312. 

45 : 7.  in  the  way-bill  . . . booked.  The  way-bill  was  a list  of 


NOTES 


229 


passengers ; the  passenger  was  hooked,  or  entered,  on  this  list,  in 
virtue  of  having  purchased  a ticket. 

45  : 24.  quarterings.  See  note  on  line  14,  page  78. 

45  : 29.  within  benefit  of  clergy.  Formerly  under  the  English 
law,  all  persons  in  holy  orders,  and  ultimately  all  persons  who 
could  read,  might,  by  pleading  44  benefit  of  clergy,”  be  exempted 
from  criminal  punishment  at  the  hands  of  a secular  judge.  This 
privilege  was  wholly  abolished  in  1827. 

46  : 6.  Quarter  Sessions.  A general  court  held  quarterly  by  the 
justices  of  the  peace  of  each  county,  and  having  jurisdiction  over 
all  but  the  highest  crimes. 

46  : 14.  as  one  having  authority.  “For  he  taught  them  as  one 
having  authority  and  not  as  the  scribes.”  — Matthevj  vii.  29. 

46  : 15.  his  majesty’s.  See  note  on  line  10,  page  41. 

46  : 22.  poached.  One  meaning  of  the  verb  poach  (<F.  pocher , 
to  hit,  poke)  is  “to  tread  upon”  ; another  is  “to  cook  eggs,  after 
first  breaking  the  shells,  by  dropping  them  into  boiling  water.” 
De  Quincey  here  plays  upon  these  two  meanings. 

46:24.  false  echoes.  “Yes,  false!  for  the  words  ascribed  to 
Napoleon,  as  breathed  to  the  memory  of  Desaix,  never  were  uttered 
at  all.  They  stand  in  the  same  category  of  theatrical  fictions  as 
the  cry  of  the  foundering  line-of-battle  ship  Vengeur , as  the  vaunt 
of  General  Cambronne  at  Waterloo,  4 La  Garde  meurt , mats  ne  se 
rend  pas,'  or  as  the  repartees  of  Talleyrand.”  — De  Quincey. 

“Why  is  it  not  permitted  me  to  weep?”  is  said  to  have  been 
Napoleon’s  remark  on  hearing  of  the  death  of  General  Desaix  at 
the  battle  of  Marengo,  fought  between  the  French  and  the  Aus- 
trians on  June  14,  1800.  The  French  ship  Vengeur , sunk  by  Lord 
Howe,  June  1,  1794,  was  reported  to  have  gone  down  with  her 
streamers  flying  and  her  crew  all  shouting 44  Vive  la  Nepublique  ” ; in 
reality,  those  who  were  still  on  board  as  the  vessel  sank  were  vehe- 
mently imploring  the  aid  of  the  English.  44  The  Guard  dies,  but  does 
not  surrender  ’ ’ are  the  words  supposedly  uttered  by  Cambronne  when 


230 


NOTES 


called  upon  to  surrender  the  division  of  tlie  Old  Guard  commanded 
by  him  at  Waterloo  ; his  true  reply  may  be  found  in  Victor  Hugo’s 
Les  Jlise  rabies.  Talleyrand  (1754-1838)  was  a celebrated  French 
wit  and  diplomatist. 

47:1.  a fortiori.  A term  in  logic,  meaning  “ by  a stronger  rea- 
son,” “all  the  more.” 

47  : 7.  between  Shrewsbury  and  Oswestry.  Both  these  towns 
lie  to  the  northwest  of  Birmingham,  the  former  about  forty  miles 
distant,  the  latter  about  fifty-five. 

47:8.  a tawdry  thing  from  Birmingham.  The  great  English 
manufacturing  city  of  Birmingham  is  noted,  among  many  other 
things,  for  its  large  output  of  cheap  jewellery,  imitation  gems,  and 
the  like  articles. 

47:8.  some  “Tallyho”  or  “Highflyer.”  A tally-ho  was  and 
is  a four-in-hand  pleasure  coach ; highflyer , according  to  the  Ox- 
ford Dictionary , is  the  name  formerly  given  to  a fast  stage-coach. 

47 : 18.  false,  fleeting,  perjured  Brummagem.  An  imitation  of 
Shakespeare’s  : — 


“False,  fleeting,  perjured  Clarence.” 

— Richard  III , Act  I,  Scene  iv,  line  55. 

Brummagem  is  the  colloquial  name  of  Birmingham,  and  is  also 
a slang  term  denoting  a sham  or  worthless  article. 

47  : 20.  Luxor.  See  note  on  line  6,  page  28. 

47 : 22.  jacobinical.  Revolutionary.  The  Jacobin  Club  was  an 
influential  political  organization  that  existed  during  the  French 
Revolution. 

48 : 5.  a tower  of  moral  strength,  etc.  Cf.  Shakespeare's 

Richard  III , Act  V,  Scene  iii,  lines  12-13:  — 

“Besides,  the  king’s  name  is  a tower  of  strength, 

Which  they  upon  the  adverse  party  want.” 

48:  18.  a cat  might  look  at  a king.  This  familiar  saw  first 


NOTES 


231 


appears  in  the  Proverbs  of  John  Heywood  (d.  1565)  published  in 
1546. 

48:  25.  a very  fine  story,  etc.  This  story  is  to  be  found  in 
the  fifth  act  of  John  Heywood’s  The  Boycdl  King  and  the  Loyall 
Subject,  where  it  occupies  lines  378-398.  It  is  probable,  how- 
ever, that  De  Quincey  knew  the  story  from  its  inclusion  by  Lamb 
in  his  Specimens  of  the  English  Dramatic  Poets.  As  told  by  Lord 
Audley  to  the  King  of  England,  it  runs  as  follows  : — 

“ A Persian  Plistory 
I read  of  late,  how  the  great  Sophy  once 
Flying  a noble  Falcon  at  the  Herne, 

In  comes  by  chance  an  Eagle  sousing  by, 

Which  when  the  Hawke  espyes,  leaves  her  first  game* 

And  boldly  venters  on  the  King  of  Birds ; 

Long  tug’d  they  in  the  Ayre,  till  at  the  length 
The  Falcon  better  breath’d,  seiz’d  on  the  Eagle, 

And  struck  it  dead:  The  Barons  prais’d  the  Bird, 

And  for  her  courage  she  was  peerelesse  held. 

The  Emperor,  after  some  deliberate  thoughts, 

Made  him  no  lesse : he  caus’d  a Crowne  of  gold 
To  be  new  fram’d,  and  fitted  to  her  head 
In  honour  of  her  courage : Then  the  Bird 
With  great  applause  was  to-  the  market-place 
In  triumph  borne,  where,  when  her  utmost  worth 
Had  beene  proclaim’d,  the  common  Executioner 
First  by  the  King’s  command  tooke  off  her  Crowne, 

And  after  with  a sword  strooke  off  her  head, 

As  one  no  better  than  a noble  Traytor 
Unto  the  King  of  Birds.” 

48  : 27.  omrahs.  Omrah  ( <umara , originally  Arabic  plural  of 
amir,  lord)  is  defined  by  the  Oxford  Dictionary  as  meaning  u a lord 
or  grandee  of  a Mohammedan  court,  especially  that  of  the  great 
Mogul.” 


232 


NOTES 


48  : 31.  from  Agra  and  Lahore.  This  description  is  reminiscent 

of  Wordsworth’s  lines : — 

“ The  Great  Mogul,  when  he 
Erewhile  went  forth  from  Agra  or  Lahore, 

Rajahs  and  Omrahs  in  his  train.” 

— Prelude , Book  X,  lines  18-20. 

49 : 14.  Roman  pearls.  Imitation  pearls. 

49:  16.  the  6th  of  Edward  Longshanks,  chap.  18.  “De  Quin- 

cey  is  making  fun  of  the  Welsh  obtuseness  to  a joke.  Coaches  in 
Plantagenet  England  were  as  unknown  as  snakes  in  Iceland.  Also 
making  fun  of  the  reader,  who  is  not  supposed  to  know  that  the 
Statute  6 Edward  I has  only  fifteen  chapters  ! ” — Hart. 

49  : 30.  in  York,  etc.  York  is  one  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
miles  distant  from  London. 

50  : 1.  magna  loquimur.  “We  talk  great  things.” 

50  : 2.  “ magna  vivimus.”  “ We  do  (lit.  live ) great  things.” 

50 : 7.  a thrilling.  This  use  of  thrilling  as  a noun  is  very  un- 
usual. 

5o:21.  Nile.  At  the  battle  of  the  Nile,  fought  in  Aboukir  Bay 
on  August  1,  1798,  Nelson  destroyed  the  French  fleet,  winning  one 
of  his  most  glorious  victories. 

51:2.  pot-wallopings.  The  sounds  made  by  a pot  in  boiling. 

51  : 3.  scenical.  This  is  another  favorite  word  in  De  Quincey’s 
vocabulary,  doubtless  because  scenical  effects  appealed  to  him  so 
strongly. 

51 : 15.  Marlborough  forest.  This  forest  is  situated  some  thirty 
miles  east  of  Bath,  on  the  road  between  Bath  and  London. 

51  : 24.  Yet  Fanny,  etc.  The  original  form  of  this  rather  long 
sentence  will  show  how  carefully  De  Quincey  revised  the  Black - 
wood  text  of  this  article:  “Yet  Fanny,  as  the  loveliest  young 
woman  for  face  and  person  that  perhaps  in  my  whole  life  I have 
beheld,  merited  the  station  which  even  her  I could  not  willingly 


NOTES 


233 


have  spared  ; yet  (thirty-five  years  later)  she  holds  in  my  dreams ; 
and  though,  by  an  accident  of  fanciful  caprice,  she  brought  along 
with  her  into  those  dreams  a troop  of  dreadful  creatures,  fabulous 
and  not  fabulous,  that  were  more  abominable  to  a human  heart 
than  Fanny  and  the  dawn  were  delightful.” 

52  : 1.  the  royal  livery.  u The  general  impression  was  that  the 
royal  livery  belonged  of  right  to  the  mail-coachmen  as  their  pro- 
fessional dress.  But  that  was  an  error.  To  the  guard  it  did 
belong,  I believe,  and  was  obviously  essential  as  an  official  war- 
rant, and  as  a means  of  instant  identification  for  his  person,  in  the 
discharge  of  his  important  public  duties.  But  the  coachman,  and 
especially  if  his  place  in  the  series  did  not  connect  him  immedi- 
ately with  London  and  the  General  Post-Office,  obtained  the  scarlet 
coat  only  as  an  honorary  distinction  after  long  (or,  if  not  long, 
trying  and  special)  service.”  — De  Quince y. 

52  : 8.  Certainly  not,  as  regarded  any  physical  pretensions. 
For  De  Quincey’s  description  of  his  physical  personality,  see  his 
Confessions , Works  (Popular  Edition),  Volume  I,  page  132. 

52  : 15.  Ulysses  . . . suitors.  On  his  return  from  the  siege  of 
Troy,  Ulysses  found  his  wife,  Penelope,  surrounded  by  suitors. 
These,  with  the  aid  of  his  son  Telemachus  and  the  swineherd 
Eumseus,  he  slew,  using  his  magic  bow  to  make  himself  known 
and  to  open  the  battle.  See  Odyssey , Books  XXI  and  XXII. 

52  : 23.  about  Waterloo.  That  is,  about  1815. 

53:3.  “ Say,  all  our  praises,”  etc.  De  Quincey  is  quoting 
from  Pope,  in  whose  Moral  Essays , Epistle  III,  occur  the  lines : — 

“ But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross? 

Rise,  honest  Muse!  and  sing  the  Man  of  Ross.” 

53  : 10.  resembled  a crocodile.  De  Quincey  is  fond  of  compar- 
ing people  to  crocodiles  ; as  a case  in  point,  see  page  100,  line  11. 
The  crocodile  was  a very  familiar  animal  to  him  through  his 
dreams,  for  he  says  in  the  Confessions  : “The  cursed  crocodile 


234 


NOTES 


became  to  me  the  object  of  more  horror  than  almost  all  the  rest 
I was  compelled  to  live  with  him  ; and  (as  was  always  the  case, 
almost,  in  my  dreams)  for  centuries.  I escaped  sometimes,  and 
found  myself  in  Chinese  houses  with  cane  tables,  &c.  All  the 
feet  of  the  tables,  sofas,  &c.,  soon  became  instinct  with  life:  the 
abominable  head  of  the  crocodile,  and  his  leering  eyes,  looked  out 
out  at  me,  multiplied  into  a thousand  repetitions ; and  I stood 
loathing  and  fascinated.”  See  Works  (Popular  Edition),  Volume  I, 
pages  119-120. 

53  : 21.  turrets.  44  As  one  who  loves  and  venerates  Chaucer  for 
his  unrivalled  merits  of  tenderness,  of  picturesque  characterisa- 
tion, and  of  narrative  skill,  I noticed  with  great  pleasure  that  the 
word  torrettes  is  used  by  him  to  designate  the  little  devices 
through  which  the  reins  are  made  to  pass.  This  same  word,  in 
the  same  exact  sense,  I heard  uniformly  used  by  many  scores  of 
illustrious  mail-coachmen  to  whose  confidential  friendship  I had 
the  honour  of  being  admitted  in  my  younger  days.”  — De  Quince y. 

The  expression  44torets  fyled  rounde  ” occurs  in  The  Knighte's 
Tale,  line  1294.  Here  the  44  turret”  is  a small  ring  or  swivel  on  a 
dog’s  collar,  through  which  passes  the  leash,  a sense  not  altogether 
different  from  that  in  which  De  Quincey  uses  the  word. 

53  : 27.  the  top  of  the  tree.  A pun  seems  intended  here. 

53  : 30.  plant  me  in  the  very  rearward  of  her  favour.  This 
expression  has  a decidedly  Shakespearian  sound  about  it ; perhaps 
it  is  a very  distant  echo  of  the  words, 

“ Ever  in  the  rearward  of  the  fashion.” 

— 2 Henry  IV,  Act  III,  Scene  ii,  line  339. 

54  : 10.  44  Perish  the  roses  and  the  palms  of  kings.”  The  pres- 
ent editor  has  been  unable  to  find  the  source  of  this  quotation. 

54  : 10.  Mr.  Waterton.  Charles  Waterton,  an  English  natural- 
ist and  traveller  (1782-1865).  He  was  the  author  of  Wanderings 
in  South  America  and  Essays  on  Natural  History. 


NOTES 


235 


54  : 19.  the  Pharaohs.  u Pharaoh”  was  the  official  title  of  the 
ancient  Egyptian  kings. 

54  : 24.  domineered  over  Egyptian  society.  The  ancient  Egyp- 
tians considered  the  crocodile  a sacred  animal,  and  made  it  the 
object  of  idolatrous  worship.  Having  thus  no  danger  to  fear  from 
man,  it  became  very  bold  and  troublesome. 

54 : 32.  till  Mr.  Waterton  changed  the  relations  between  the 
animals.  44  Had  the  reader  lived  through  the  last  generation, 
he  would  not  need  to  be  told  that,  some  thirty  or  thirty-five 
years  back,  Mr.  Waterton,  a distinguished  country  gentleman  of 
ancient  family  in  Northumberland,  publicly  mounted  and  rode  in 
top-boots  a savage  old  crocodile,  that  was  restive  and  very  im- 
pertinent, but  all  to  no  purpose.  The  crocodile  jibbed  and  tried 
to  kick,  but  vainly.  He  was  no  more  able  to  throw  the  squire 
than  Sinbad  was  to  throw  the  old  scoundrel  who  used  his  back 
without  paying  for  it,  until  he  discovered  a mode  (slightly 
immoral,  perhaps,  though  some  think  not)  of  murdering  the  old 
fraudulent  jockey,  and  so  circuitously  of  unhorsing  him.” — De 
Quincey. 

55  : 4.  the  final  cause  of  man.  Aristotle  divides  causes  into 
four  kinds,  — material,  formal,  efficient,  and  final ; a final  cause  is 
the  end  or  purpose  for  which  anything  is  made. 

55  : 15.  from  a gulf  of  forty  years.  “From  thirty-five  years 
back  ” is  the  reading  of  the  original  Blackwood  article. 

55  : 15.  a rose  in  June.  June,  of  course,  is  the  month  of  roses. 

55  : 28.  households.  44  Roe-deer  do  not  congregate  in  herds  like 
the  fallow  or  the  red  deer,  but  by  separate  families,  parents  and 
children  ; which  feature  of  approximation  to  the  sanctity  of  hu- 
man hearths,  added  to  their  comparatively  miniature  and  graceful 
proportions,  conciliates  to  them  an  interest  of  peculiar  tenderness, 
supposing  even  that  this  beautiful  creature  is  less  characteristi- 
cally impressed  with  the  grandeurs  of  savage  and  forest  life.”  — 
De  Quincey, 


236 


NOTES 


55  : 33.  semi-legendary  animals,  etc.  A griffin  was  a fabulous 

monster,  half  lion  and  half  eagle  ; a dragon  was  a winged  serpeni . 
a basilisk  was  another  serpent,  whose  breath  and  looks  were  fatal 
the  sphinx,  a monster  having  a winged  lion’s  body  and  a woman’s 
face  and  breast,  used  to  propound  riddles  and  kill  those  unable  to 
guess  them. 

56  : 4.  quartered  heraldically.  To  u quarter  arms”  in  heraldry 
means  to  combine  on  one  shield  the  arms  of  several  families.;  the 
shield  then  being  divided  into  four  quarters. 

56  : 8.  her  children.  This  paragraph  is  only  about  one-fifth  as 
long  as  the  corresponding  paragraph  in  Blackwood.  The  conden- 
sation, however,  was  a wise  one. 

56  : Title.  Going  down  with  victory.  Carrying  the  news  of 
victory  from  London.  Leaving  London  is  always  going  down  into 
the  country. 

56  : 16.  Titans.  According  to  Greek  mythology,  the  Titans 
were  a gigantic  race  that  inhabited  the  earth  before  men  were 
created. 

56  : 26.  audacity.  “ Such  the  French  accounted  it ; and  it  has 
struck  me  that  Soult  would  not  have  been  so  popular  in  London, 
at  the  period  of  her  present  Majesty’s  coronation  [28th  June  1838], 
or  in  Manchester,  on  occasion  of  his  visit  to  that  town  [July  1838], 
if  they  had  been  aware  of  the  insolence  with  which  he  spoke  of  us 
in  notes  written  at  intervals  from  the  field  of  Waterloo.  As  though 
it  had  been  mere  felony  in  our  army  to  look  a French  one  in  the 
face,  he  said  in  more  notes  than  one,  dated  from  two  to  four  p.m. 
on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  4 Here  are  the  English  — we  have  them  ; 
they  are  caught  en  flagrant  delitd  Yet  no  man  should  have  known 
us  better ; no  man  had  drunk  deeper  from  the  cup  of  humiliation 
than  Soult  had  in  1809,  when  ejected  by  us  with  headlong  violence 
from  Oporto,  and  pursued  through  a long  line  of  wrecks  to  the  fron- 
tier of  Spain  ; and  subsequently  at  Albuera,  in  the  bloodiest  of 
recorded  battles  [16th  May  1811],  to  say  nothing  of  Toulouse 


NOTES 


237 


[10th  April  1814],  he  should  have  learned  our  pretensions.”  — De 
Quincey  The  bracketed  dates  are  Masson’s 

57  ; 4.  prelibation.  Foretaste. 

57  : 8.  Lombard  Street.  This  street,  the  centre  of  the  great 
financial  transactions  of  London,  owes  its  name  to  the  fact  that 
in  it  settled  the  first  bankers  and  money  lenders  of  the  city,  who 
came  from  Lombardy. 

57  : 9.  at  that  time.  u I speak  of  the  era  previous  to  Waterloo.” 
■ — De  Quincey 

57  : 9.  St.  Martin’s-le-Grand.  A street  within  the  old  “city  ” 
of  London,  which  takes  its  name  from  the  church  of  St.  Martin’s-le- 
Grand.  The  latter  is  so  called  to  distinguish  it  from  St.  Martin’s- 
in-the-Fields,  another  church  standing  outside  the  “city”  proper, 
just  opposite  Trafalgar  Square. 

57  i 10.  the  General  Post-office.  The  present  office  was  built 
between  1825  and  1829,  and  opened  September  23,  1829 

57  .°  12.  attelage.  Team. 

58  : 33.  Badajoz.  After  being  twice  besieged  in  vain  by  the 
English  under  Wellington,  the  Spanish  city  of  Badajoz  was  finally 
taken  by  storm  on  the  night  of  April  6,  1812. 

59 : 9.  three  hundred.  “ Of  necessity,  this  scale  of  measure- 
ment, to  an  American,  if  he  happens  to  be  a thoughtless  man, 
must  sound  ludicrous.  Accordingly,  I remember  a case  in  which 
an  American  writer  indulges  himself  in  the  luxury  of  a little  fib- 
bing, by  ascribing  to  an  Englishman  a pompous  account  of  the 
Thames,  constructed  entirely  upon  American  ideas  of  grandeur, 
and  concluding  in  something  like  these  terms : — ‘ And,  sir,  arriving 
at  London,  this  mighty  father  of  rivers  attains  a breadth  of  at  least 
two  furlongs,  having,  in  its  winding  course,  traversed  the  astonish- 
ing distance  of  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles.’  And  this  the 
candid  American  thinks  it  fair  to  contrast  with  the  scale  of  the 
Mississippi.  Now,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  answer  a pure  fiction 
gravely ; else  one  might  say  that  no  Englishman  out  of  Bedlam 


238 


NOTES 


ever  thought  of  looking  in  an  island  for  the  rivers  of  a continent, 
nor,  consequently,  could  have  thought  of  looking  for  the  peculiar 
grandeur  of  the  Thames  in  the  length  of  its  course,  or  in  the  extent 
of  soil  which  it  drains.  Yet,  if  he  had  been  so  absurd,  the  Ameri- 
can might  have  recollected  that  a river,  not  to  be  compared  with 
the  Thames  even  as  to  volume  of  water  — viz.  the  Tiber  — has 
contrived  to  make  itself  heard  of  in  this  world  for  twenty-five 
centuries  to  an  extent  not  reached  as  yet  by  any  river,  however 
corpulent,  of  his  own  land.  The  glory  of  the  Thames  is  measured 
by  the  destiny  of  the  population  to  which  it  ministers,  by  the  com- 
merce which  it  supports,  by  the  grandeur  of  the  empire  in  which, 
though  far  from  the  largest,  it  is  the  most  influential  stream. 
VJpon  some  such  scale,  and  not  by  a transfer  of  Columbian  stand- 
ards, is  the  course  of  our  English  mails  to  be  valued.  The 
American  may  fancy  the  effect  of  his  own  valuations  to  our  Eng- 
lish ears  by  supposing  the  case  of  a Siberian  glorifying  his  coun- 
try in  these  terms : — 4 These  wretches,  sir,  in  France  and  England, 
cannot  march  half  a mile  in  any  direction  without  finding  a house 
where  food  can  be  had  and  lodging ; whereas  such  is  the  noble 
desolation  of  our  magnificent  country  that  in  many  a direction 
for  a thousand  miles  I will  engage  that  a dog  shall  not  find  shelter 
from  a snow-storm,  nor  a wren  find  an  apology  for  breakfast.  - ' — 
Be  Quincey. 

59  : 26.  Be  thou  whole  ! Cf.  Mark  v.  34. 

59  s 33.  Barnet.  A village  in  Hertfordshire,  eleven  miles  north- 
west of  London,  formerly  a place  of  importance  on  the  northern 
coach  road. 

60  : 32.  charwomen.  Women  that  perform  chores. 

61  s 22.  a Courier  evening  paper.  This,  the  first  London  even- 
:ng  paper  of  importance,  was  established  by  John  Parry  in  1792. 
During  the  war  with  Napoleon  it  was  the  chief  ministerial  organ  in 
the  London  press  and  the  most  popular  paper  of  the  day. 

Ci : 22.  gazette.  A report  or  announcement  as  authoritative  as 


NOTES 


239 


if  published  in  one  of  the  three  English  official  newspapers  or 
“ Gazettes.” 

62  : 6.  fey.  “Fated,  doomed  to  die:  not  a Celtic  word,  but  an 
Anglo-Saxon  word  preserved  in  Lowland  Scotch.  ‘ You  are  surely 
fey'  would  be  said  in  Scotland  to  a person  observed  to  be  in 
extravagantly  high  spirits,  or  in  any  mood  surprisingly  beyond 
the  bounds  of  his  ordinary  temperament,  — the  notion  being  that 
the  excitement  is  supernatural,  and  a presage  of  his  approaching 
death  or  of  some  other  calamity  about  to  befall  him.”  — Masson. 

62  : 15.  Bengal  lights.  A sort  of  fireworks  producing  a blue- 
colored  light  of  great  steadiness  and  intensity,  largely  used  for 
signals. 

62  : 17.  glittering  laurels.  “ I must  observe  that  the  colour  of 
green  suffers  almost  a spiritual  change  and  exaltation  under  the 
effect  of  Bengal  lights.”  — De  Quince y. 

62  : 29.  Talavera.  At  Talavera,  a Spanish  town  near  the  Portu- 
guese frontier,  Wellington  defeated  the  French,  July  27-28,  1809. 

62 : 30.  the  virtual  treachery  of  . . . Cuesta.  Gregorio  Garcia 
de  la  Cuesta  (1740-1812)  was  made  Captain-General  of  Old  Castile 
m 1809,  and  his  forces  united  with  those  of  Wellington.  He  took 
part  in  the  battle  of  Talavera,  but  “ the  results  of  this  great  victory 
were  almost  entirely  nullified  by  Cuesta’s  wrong-headedness.” 
Wellington  set  out  on  August  1 to  beat  Soult,  leaving  Cuesta  at 
Talavera  to  hold  Victor  in  check ; but  the  Spanish  general,  either 
from  treachery  or  cowardice,  abandoned  the  place  and  ran  after  the 
English.  In  consequence,  Wellington  was  forced  to  fall  back  on 
the  Portuguese  frontier.  See  Napier,  History  of  the  War  in  the 
Peninsula,  Book  VIII,  Chapter  II. 

63  : 2.  the  Peninsular  army.  Since  Spain  and  Portugal  are 
known  as  u the  Peninsula,”  the  English  army  which  operated  there 
under  Wellington  from  1808  to  1814  was  called  by  this  name. 

63  : 4.  the  33d  Dragoons.  Napier’s  description  of  their  famous 
charge  is,  in  part,  as  follows:  “ They  went  off  at  a canter,  increas- 


240 


NOTES 


ing  their  speed  as  they  advanced  and  riding  headlong  against  the 
enemy  ; but  in  a few  moments,  a hollow  cleft  which  was  not  per- 
ceptible at  a distance  intervened,  and  at  the  same  moment  the 
French,  throwing  themselves  into  squares,  opened  their  fire. 
Colonel  Arentschild  . . . promptly  reined  up  at  the  brink.  . . . 
The  twenty-third  found  the  chasm  more  practicable ; the  English 
blood  is  hot,  and  the  regiment  plunged  down  without  a check,  men 
and  horses  rolling  over  each  other  in  dreadful  confusion  ; yet  the 
survivors,  untamed,  mounted  the  opposite  bank  by  twos  and  threes ; 
Colonel  Seymour  wras  severely  wounded,  but  General  Anson  and 
Major  Frederick  Ponsonby,  a hardy  soldier,  passing  through  the 
midst  of  Villatte’s  columns  which  were  pouring  in  a fire  from  both 
sides,  fell  with  inexpressible  violence  upon  a brigade  of  French 
chasseurs  in  the  rear.”  The  speedy  arrival  of  French  reenforce- 
ments obliged  the  23d  to  retire.  “Those  who  were  not  killed  or 
taken,  made  for  Bassecour’s  Spanish  division  and  so  escaped  ; yet 
with  a loss  of  two  hundred  and  seven  men  and  officers,  about  half 
the  number  that  went  into  action.”  — Napier,  Histonj  of  the  War 
in  the  Peninsula , Book  VIII,  Chapter  II. 

63  : 8.  the  most  memorable  and  effective  charge,  etc.  A very 
similar  and  equally  memorable  charge  was  made  by  the  French 
cuirassiers  at  Waterloo;  see  Victor  Hugo’s  Les  Niserables.  In 
the  very  year  of  De  Quincey’s  revision,  a still  more  celebrated 
charge  was  made  by  the  English  Light  Brigade  at  Balaclava  (Octo- 
ber 25,  1854). 

63 : 13.  the  inspiration  of  God.  Sir  Leslie  Stephen  ( Hours  in  a 
Library , original  edition,  pages  288-280)  thinks  that  De  Quineey 
here  falls  into  bombast.  “One  is  a little  shocked  at  finding  ‘the 
inspiration  of  God  ’ attributed  to  the  gallant  dragoons.  . . . The 
phrase  is  overcharged,  and  inevitably  suggests  a cynical  reaction 
of  mind.” 

63 : 25.  aceldama.  With  the  money  received  for  betraying  Jesus, 
Judas  purchased  a field,  “and  it  was  known  unto  all  the  dwellers 


NOTES 


241 


at  Jerusalem ; insomuch  as  that  field  is  called  in  their  proper  tongue 
Aceldama,  that  is  to  say,  The  field  of  blood.”  — Acts  i.  19. 

64  : Title,  Section  II  — The  Vision  of  Sudden  Death.  In  Black- 
wood for  December,  1849,  this  section  was  prefaced  by  a bracketed 
paragraph,  explaining  its  connection  with  Section  I,  which  had  been 
published  in  the  October  number,  and  also  its  connection  with  the 
subsequent  Section  III.  The  substance  of  this  explanation  may 
now  be  found  in  the  “ Author’s  Postscript,”  pages  95-97. 

65:1.  the  consummation  . . . most  fervently  to  be  desired.  It 
was  Hamlet  who  said  of  death  : — 

“ ’Tis  a consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.” 

— Hamlet , Act  III,  Scene  i,  lines  63-64, 

65  : 7.  Caesar  the  Dictator,  at  his  last  dinner-party,  etc.  Plu- 
* tarch  tells  the  story  thus  : “ The  day  before  this  assassination,  he 

supped  with  Marcus  Lepidus  ; and,  as  he  was  signing  some  letters, 
according  to  his  custom,  as  he  reclined  at  table,  there  arose  a ques- 
tion what  sort  of  dearth  was  the  best.  At  which  he  immediately, 
before  any  one  could  speak,  said,  ‘A  sudden  one.’  ” • — Lives , Vol. 
II,  page  819.  Clough’s  Dryden’s  translation. 

66  : 33.  Bia8avavos.  A compound  of  the  Greek  /3«uo$,  violent, 
and  Oavaros , death. 

67 : 5.  by  the  word  “ sudden  ” means  unlingering.  There  seems 
to  be  some  difference  of  opinion  as  to  Caesar’s  exact  words 
on  this  occasion.  Appian  ( Boman  History , White’s  translation, 
Book  II,  Chapter  XVI,  section  115)  tells  us  that  “ Caesar  alone  ex- 
pressed the  preference  for  a sudden  death.”  In  Clough’s  transla- 
tion of  Plutarch  ( Lives , Vol.  II,  page  819),  “sudden”  is  again  the 
word  used.  Suetonius  (Divas  Julius  Caesar , LXXXVII)  says, 
“repentinum  inopinatumque  praetulerat,  ” — “ he  expressed  his 
preference  for  a sudden  and  unexpected  one.”  “That  which  is 
least  expected”  is  the  remark  attributed  to  him  by  Merivale  ( His - 


242 


NOTES 


tonj  of  the  Romans  under  the  Empire,  Chapter  XXI,  page  453;  and 
by  Flower  ( Julius  Ccesar,  Chapter  XIX,  page  376).  If  Suetonius, 
Merivale,  and  Flower  are  right  in  using  the  word  unexpected,  I)e 
Quincey’s  interpretation  of  Caesar’s  meaning  is  necessarily  wrong. 

67  : 33.  affronts.  Here  used  with  its  primitive  meaning  of  meet- 
ing or  encountering  face  to  face.  Cf . the  use  of  exasperation,  line  4, 
page  68. 

69 : 3.  Perhaps  not  one  of  us  escapes  that  dream.  Surely  it  is 

not  so  universal  as  De  Quincey  imagines. 

69  : 13.  “ Nature  from  her  seat,”  etc. 

“ Nature  from  her  seat, 

Sighing  through  all  her  works,  gave  signs  of  woe 
That  all  was  lost.” 

— Milton,  Paradise  Lost , Book  IX,  lines  782-784. 

69 : 27.  the  Manchester  and  Glasgow  mail.  The  mail-coach 
running  from  London  northwest  through  Manchester  to  Glasgow, 
a distance  of  some  four  hundred  miles. 

69  : 28.  in  the  second  or  third  summer  after  Waterloo.  That  is, 
in  1817  or  1818  ; but  see  note  on  line  17,  page  95. 

70  : 3.  the  down  mail.  The  mail  from  London  ; see  note  on 
title,  page  56. 

70 : 15.  in  Westmorland.  In  Westmoreland,  which  county  lies 
almost  directly  north  of  Manchester,  De  Quincey  lived  from  1809  to 
1821.  During  this  time  he  made  frequent  visits  to  and  beyond  London 

70 : 21.  the  Bridgewater  Arms.  The  hotel  just  mentioned. 

70 : 27.  jus  dominii.  The  law  of  ownership. 

70  : 33.  kicked.  The  reader  will  notice  that  kicking  is  a favorite 
form  of  punishment  with  De  Quincey. 

71  : 4.  jus  gentium.  The  law  of  nations. 

71  :6.  in  the  dark,  etc.  Cf.  John  iii.  19-21. 

71 : 12.  from  a point,  etc.  It  is  impossible  to  say  just  where 
De  Quincey  had  been. 


NOTES 


243 


71 : 13.  In  the  taking  of  laudanum  there  was  nothing  extraordi- 
nary. De  Quincey’s  use  of  opium  was  greatest  between  1817  and 
1819. 

71  : 15.  assessor.  The  primitive  meaning  of  this  word  is  “one 
who  sits  by  another.” 

71  :20.  “Monstrum  horrendum,”  etc.  Polyphemus,  one  of  the 
Cyclops,  is  here  described.  The  line  is  658  in  Book  III  of  the 
AEneid. 

71 : 26.  one  of  the  Calendars,  etc.  A Calender  is  a member  of 
the  order  of  mendicant  preaching  dervishes,  founded  in  the  four- 
teenth century  by  an  Andalusian  Arab  named  Yusuf.  The  three 
Calenders  of  the  Arabian  Nights  were  princes  in  disguise,  each 
Dlind  in  one  eye ; only  the  third,  however,  had  paid  his  eye  as  the 
price  of  criminal  curiosity.  See  any  edition  of  the  Arabian  Nights e 

72 : 2.  A1  Sirat.  The  bridge  over  which  it  is  necessary  to  pass 
in  order  to  reach  the  Mohammedan  paradise.  It  is  narrower  than 
the  edge  of  a razor  in  width,  that  those  burdened  with  sins  may  be 
certain  to  fall  off  into  Hades,  which  it  crosses. 

72 : 5.  Cyclops.  In  Greek  mythology,  the  Cyclops  were  huge, 
misshapen  giants,  each  having  but  one  eye  and  that  in  the  middle 
of  the  forehead. 

72  : 7.  diphrelatic.  The  Century  Dictionary  recognizes  this 
word,  but  gives  no  examples  of  its  use.  In  justification  of  his  coin- 
age, De  Quincey  remarks  in  the  original  Blackvjood  article,  “No 
word  ever  was  or  can  be  pedantic  which,  by  supporting  a distinc- 
tion, supports  the  accuracy  of  logic,  or  which  fills  up  a chasm  for 
the  understanding.” 

72  : 20.  at  Lancaster.  The  capital  of  Lancashire,  two  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  northwest  of  London. 

72 : 28.  Some  people  have  called  me  procrastinating.  See 
Chapter  XIX  of  Page’s  (A.  H.  Japp)  Thomas  De  Quincey  : His 
Life  and  Writings  ; also  Masson’s  De  Quincey , pages  119-121. 

73  : 10.  is  an  advantage.  A double  advantage,  indeed,  since 


244 


NOTES 


it  also  prevented  him  from  missing  his  coach  (page  70,  lines 
18-19). 

73 : 1(3.  Kendal.  The  largest  and  most  important  town  in 
Westmoreland,  though  Appleby  is  the  capital  of  the  county. 

73  : 25.  confluent.  “ Suppose  a capital  Y (the  Pythagorean  let- 
ter) : Lancaster  is  at  the  foot  of  this  letter  ; Liverpool  at  the  top  of 
the  right  branch ; Manchester  at  the  top  of  the  left ; Proud  Pres- 
ton at  the  centre,  where  the  two  branches  unite.  It  is  thirty-three 
miles  along  either  of  the  two  branches  ; it  is  twenty-two  miles 
along  the  stem  — viz.  from  Preston  in  the  middle  to  Lancaster  at 
the  root.  There’s  a lesson  in  geography  for  the  reader  ! ” 

— De  Quincey. 

It  should  be  noted,  however,  that  on  the  map  De  Quincey’s  Y 
will  be  upside  down. 

73  : 32.  aurigation  of  Apollo  himself,  with  the  horses  of 
Aurora  to  execute  his  notions.  According  to  the  Greeks,  Apollo, 
as  god  of  the  sun,  drove  his  flaming  chariot  daily  through  the 
heavens.  Eos,  or  Aurora,  the  goddess  of  the  morning,  also  drove 
her  chariot,  at  the  close  of  each  night,  from  the  river  Oceanus  up 
to  Heaven,  to  announce  the  coming  of  the  sun  ; her  horses,  noted 
for  their  swiftness,  were  named  Lampus  and  Phaethon.  The  rare 
word  aurigation  (<  Latin  auriga , a charioteer)  means  the  art  of 
driving. 

74  : 2.  this  infirmity.  Is  sleeping,  mortality,  or  snoring  here 
referred  to  ? Probably  the  first. 

74  : 3.  the  whole  Pagan  Pantheon.  All  the  pagan  gods  put  to- 
gether. The  Greek  UdvdeLov,  originally  meaning  a temple  dedicated 
to  ail  the  gods,  finally  came  to  denote  all  the  divinities  worshipped 
by  a nation. 

74 : 6.  assizes.  An  English  court  of  justice  held  two  or  three 
times  a year  in  a county  or  circuit. 

74 : 14.  the  middle  watch.  From  midnight  until  four  o’clock  in 
the  morning. 


NOTES 


245 


74  ; 22.  Seven  atmospheres  of  sleep.  Perhaps,  as  has  been  sug- 
gested by  Professor  Hart,  De  Quincey  is  making  jocular  reference 
to  the  fact  that  the  coachman  has  had  no  sleep  for  three  days  and 
three  nights,  and  is  now  entering  on  his  fourth  night,  or  seventh 
period  of  sleeplessness. 

74  : 24.  “ Love  amongst  the  Roses.”  A popular  song  of  the  day. 

75  : 4.  Lilliputian  Lancaster.  In  antithesis  with  44  populous  Liv- 
erpool” and  “populous  Manchester,”  both  of  which  large  cities 
are  situated  in  Lancashire. 

75  : 8.  this  change  was  merely  in  contemplation.  At  present 
the  assizes  for  North  Lancashire  are  held  at  Lancaster,  and  for 
South  Lancashire  at  Liverpool  and  Manchester. 

75  :9.  twice  in  the  year.  “There  were  at  that  time  only  two 
assizes  even  in  the  most  populous  counties  — viz.  the  Lent  Assizes 
and  the  Summer  Assizes.”  — De  Quincey 

75  : 29.  my  own  birthday.  August  15. 

75  : 30.  sigh-born.  “I  owe  the  suggestion  of  this  word  to  an 
obscure  remembrance  of  a beautiful  phrase  in  4 Giraldus  Cam- 
brensis  ’ — viz.  4 suspiriosce  cogitationes ” — De  Quincey. 

The  Standard  Dictionary  recognizes  this  word,  but  calls  it 
44  rare.” 

76  : 4.  upon  which  . . . the  original  curse  of  labour,  etc.  De 
Quincey  comments  more  fully  upon  this  subject  in  the  Autobio- 
graphic Sketches , Works  (Popular  Edition),  Yol.  II,  pages  122-123. 

76  : 16.  nearing  the  sea.  The  Irish  Sea,  upon  an  arm  of  which 
Preston  is  situated. 

76  : 31.  a limited  atmosphere.  Though  not  yet  definitely  de- 
termined, the  height  of  the  atmosphere  is  supposed  to  be  from  one 
hundred  to  two  hundred  miles. 

77 : 3.  Sabbatic.  Of  or  pertaining  to  the  Sabbath  ; hence, 
quiet,  peaceful,  restful. 

78  : 2.  the  wrong  side  of  the  road.  In  America,  and  generally 
on  the  Continent,  teams  or  riders  when  meeting  are  expected  to 


246 


NOTES 


keep  :o  the  right.  In  England,  however,  the  law  of  the  road  is 
just  tne  opposite. 

78  : 11.  from  us.  “It  is  true  that,  according  to  the  law  of  the 
case  as  established  by  legal  precedents,  all  carriages  were  required 
to  give  way  before  royal  equipages,  and  therefore  before  the  mail 
as  one  of  them.  But  this  only  increased  the  danger,  as  being  a 
regulation  very  imperfectly  made  known,  very  unequally  enforced, 
and,  therefore,  often  embarrassing  the  movements  on  both  sides.” 

— De  Quincey. 

78:14c  quartering.  “This  is  the  technical  word,  and,  I pre- 
sume, derived  from  the  French  cartayer , to  evade  a rut  or  any 
obstacle.” — De  Quince y. 

De  Quincey’s  derivation  seems  to  be  correct.  We  should  note, 
however,  that  the  verb  quarter , used  of  driving,  has  three  distinct 
meanings : (1)  to  drive  so  that  the  right  and  left  wheels  are  on 
two  of  the  “ quarters  ” of  a road,  with  a rut  between;  (2)  to  drive 
from  side  to  side  of  the  road  (see  Autobiographic  Sketches , Works , 
Volume  II,  page  317)  ; (3)  to  drive  to  the  side  in  order  to  allow 
another  vehicle  to  pass. 

78  : 32.  this  was  impossible.  Not  all  De  Quincey’s  assurances, 
perhaps,  succeed  in  convincing  the  average  reader  that  one  trained 
in  the  “ diphrelatic  art”  could  do  nothing  on  this  occasion. 

79  : 7.  a taxed  cart.  A light  two-wheeled  vehicle  on  springs, 
valued  at  not  more  than  £21.  Such  vehicles,  since  their  exemp- 
tion from  tax,  have  come  to  be  known  as  tax-carts . 

79  : 18.  which  I have  mentioned.  De  Quincey’s  memory  is  at 
fault. 


- 


i 


80 : 1.  Gothic  aisle.  It  has  been  claimed  that  the  pointed 
arches  and  groins  of  Gothic  vaults  were  imitated  from  the  over- 
arching branches  of  trees,  and  that  the  stems  of  an  avenue  are 
the  originals  of  the  pillars  of  Gothic  aisles. 

80  : 14.  a suggestion  from  the  Iliad.  When  Patroclus  has  been 
slain  by  the  Trojans  and  the  Greeks  are  being  driven  to  their 


NOTES 


247 


ships,  Achilles  is  ordered  by  Juno  to  show  himself  at  the  head  of 
the  intrenchments,  where  his  presence  changes  the  fortunes  of  the 
day.  The  passage  (Iliad,  Book  XVIII,  lines  217  ff.)  describing  his 
shout  and  its  effects  is  thus  translated  by  Myers,  “There  stood  he 
and  shouted  aloud,  and  afar  off  Pallas  Athene  uttered  her  voice, 
and  spread  terror  unspeakable  among  the  men  of  Troy.” 

81  : 19.  a shilling  a-day.  The  pay  of  the  English  private  soldier. 
Cf.  Kipling’s  Shillin''  a Day. 

83:  12.  Faster  than  ever  mill-race,  etc.  In  the  original  article 
this  sentence  read,  “We  ran  past  them  faster  than  ever  mill-race 
in  our  inexorable  flight.”  Says  Professor  Masson,  “ His  sensitive- 
ness to  fit  sound  at  such  a moment  of  wild  rapidity,  suggested  the 
inversion.” 

83  : 24.  Here  was  the  map,  etc.  “ This  sentence,  ‘ Here  was  the 
map,’  etc.,  is  an  insertion  in  the  reprint ; and  one  observes  how 
artistically  it  causes  the  due  pause  between  the  horror  as  still  in 
rush  of  transaction  and  the  backward  look  at  the  wreck  when  the 
crash  was  passed.” — Masson. 

The  closing  words  of  the  sentence  are  an  echo  of  Christ’s  words 
concerning  his  own  passion,  or  suffering,  before  and  during  the 
crucifixion.  See  John  xix.  30. 

84  : 13.  dawnlight,  dreamlight.  Though  these  words  are  rare, 
He  Quincey  is  not  alone  in  their  use,  the  Oxford  Dictionary 
quoting  examples  of  both  from  Mrs.  Browning. 

85  : Title,  Dream-Fugue.  This  compound  is  of  De  Quincey’s 
own  invention.  A fugue  is  a musical  composition  in  which  a 
theme  introduced  by  one  part  is  repeated  and  imitated  by  the 
others  in  succession.  The  name  is  thus  explained  by  Kastner 
( Paremiologie  Musicale)  sub  “Fugue”:  “The  bit  of  music  so- 
called  — from  the  Latin  fug  a and  the  Greek  <pevyrj  — flight  — is  in 
fact  composed  of  vocal  or  instrumental  parts  that  seem  to  flee  from 
and  pursue  one  another.” 

85  : 7.  Par.  Lost,  Bk.  XI.  Lines  558-563. 


248 


NOTES 


85  : 8.  Tumultuosissimamente.  An  Italian  word  meaning  “(t« 
be  played)  in  a most  tumultuous  manner.” 

85  : 10.  averted  signs.  “I  read  the  course  and  changes  of  the 
lady’s  agony  in  the  succession  of  her  involuntary  gestures  ; but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  I read  all  this  from  the  rear,  never  once 
catching  the  lady’s  full  face,  and  even  her  profile  imperfectly.”  — 
De  Quincey. 

85  : 13.  woman’s  Ionic  form.  Vitruvius,  the  Latin  architect 
and  engineer,  in  writing  of  the  origin  of  the  different  orders  of 
architecture,  says,  according  to  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  that 
the  Greeks  shaped  the  Ionic  column  in  imitation  of  “the  delicacy 
and  ornaments  of  a woman.” 

85  : 16.  praying  for  the  trumpet’s  call,  etc.  The  rhythm  of  this 
and  other  passages  in  the  “ Dream-Fugue  ” should  be  noted. 

85  : 27.  after  forty  years.  The  original  article  reads  “thirty- 
five.” 

86:3.  three-decker.  “A  vessel  of  war  carrying  guns  on 
three  decks;  formerly  a line-of-battle  ship.”  — Century  Die - 
tionary. 

86  : 14.  corymbi.  The  plural  of  corymbus , a cluster  of  fruit  or 
flowers.  Bunches  of  grapes  seem  here  to  be  meant. 

86  : 33.  on  the  weather  beam.  On  the  side  of  the  ship  toward 
the  wind. 

87  : 6.  quarrel.  A square-headed  arrow  for  a cross-bow  ; Skeafc 
traces  the  word  back  to  the  Latin  quadrus , square. 

87  : 9.  a heady  current.  This  expression,  in  which  the  word 
heady  means  “ violent,”  “ impetuous,”  probably  echoes  Shake- 
speare, Henry  V,  Act  I,  Scene  i,  lines  33-34  : — 

“ Never  came  reformation  in  a flood, 

With  such  a heady  currance,  scouring  faults.” 

87  : 21.  rising,  sinking,  etc.  See  page  84,  lines  5-9.  The  reader 
should  observe  carefully  all  points  of  connection  between  the  vision 


NOTES 


249 


and  the  accident  or  other  experiences  connected  with  the  mail- 
coach. 

89  : 8.  victory  that  swallows  up  all  strife.  Cf.  Isaiah  xxv.  3 : 
“ He  will  swallow  np  death  in  victory.” 

89  : 18.  Te  Deums.  See  note  on  line  20,  page  11. 

89  : 28.  Waterloo  and  Recovered  Christendom.  See  page  56, 
lines  20-25. 

90  : 3.  The  rivers  were  conscious,  etc.  Cf.  Crashaw’s  much- 
quoted  line : — 

“ The  conscious  water  saw  its  God  and  blushed.” 

90:5.  And  the  darkness  comprehended  it.  “And  the  light 
shineth  in  darkness  ; and  the  darkness  comprehendeth  it  not.”  — 
John  i.  5. 

90  : 18.  station  of  advantage.  Cf.  Shakespeare’s  u coign  of 
vantage,”  Macbeth , Act  I,  Scene  vi,  line  7. 

90  : 23.  u Chant  the  deliverer’s  praise,”  etc.  Possibly  this  and 
the  following  line  were  composed  by  De  Quincey  ; if  he  quoted 
them,  it  is  impossible  to  say  from  what  source  they  come. 

90  : 29.  Campo  Santo.  “ It  is  probable  that  most  of  my  readers 
will  be  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  Campo  Santo  (or  ceme- 
tery) at  Pisa,  composed  of  earth  brought  from  Jerusalem  from  a 
bed  of  sanctity,  as  the  highest  prize  which  the  noble  piety  of  cru- 
saders could  ask  or  imagine.  To  readers  who  are  unacquainted 
with  England,  or  who  (being  English)  are  yet  unacquainted  with 
the  cathedral  cities  of  England,  it  may  be  right  to  mention  that  the 
graves  within-side  the  cathedrals  often  form  a flat  pavement  over 
which  carriages  and  horses  might  run  ; and  perhaps  a boyish  re- 
membrance of  one  particular  cathedral,  across  which  I had  seen 
passengers  walk  and  burdens  carried,  as  about  two  centuries  back 
they  were  through  the  middle  of  St.  Paul’s  in  London,  may  have 
assisted  my  dream.”  — De  Quincey. 

qi  : 26.  Creci.  See  note  on  line  14,  page  8. 


250 


NOTES 


92  : 7.  tidings  of  great  joy.  Cf.  Luke  ii.  10,  “ Fear  not : for. 

behold,  I bring  you  good  tidings  of  great  joy.” 

93  : 8.  the  horns  of  the  altar.  The  corners  or  angles  made  by 
the  front  and  ends  of  an  altar. 

93  : 28.  sanctus.  An  anthem  in  the  eucharistic  service  of  the 
Church  of  England.  It  originally  began  with  the  Latin  word 
sanctus , holy. 

94  : 5.  the  quick  and  the  dead.  A familiar  Biblical  expression. 
See  Acts  x.  42,  2 Tim.  iv.  1,  1 Pet . iv.  5. 

94  : 12.  thanks  to  God  in  the  highest.  An  echo  of  “Glory  to 
God  in  the  highest.” — Luke  ii.  14. 

95  : Title,  Author’s  Postscript.  The  passage  thus  headed  in 
Masson’s  text  originally  appeared  as  part  of  the  Preface  written 
by  De  Quincey  in  1854  for  the  volume  of  his  Collected  Writings 
containing  The  English  Mail-Coach.  In  other  texts,  this  “post- 
script ” is  given  as  a note  by  De  Quincey. 

95:3.  “ Suspiria  de  Profundis.”  “Sighs  from  the  Depths,” 
a series  of  prose  fantasies  published  by  De  Quincey  in  Blackwood 
for  March,  April,  June,  and  July,  1845.  This  series,  purporting 
to  be  a sequel  to  his  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater,  was 
never  completed. 

95  : 17.  Thirty-seven  years  ago.  This  should  make  1817  the 
year  of  De  Quincey’s  adventure.  See  note  on  line  28,  page  69. 

98  : Title,  The  Spanish  Military  Nun.  “The  story  now  entitled 
The  Spanish  Military  Nun  appeared  first  in  three  instalments,  each 
headed  with  the  words  4 By  Thomas  De  Quincey,’  in  the  num- 
bers of  Tait’s  Edinburgh  Magazine  for  May,  June,  and  July,  1847. 
It  appeared  then,  however,  under  the  clumsier  title  of  The  Nautico- 
Military  Nun  of  Spain.  The  change  of  title  was  made  in  1854, 
when  De  Quincey  reprinted  the  paper  in  Vol.  III.  of  the  Collective 
Edition  of  his  works.  There  were  alterations  at  the  same  time  in  the 
text  of  the  story,  and  in  some  particulars  of  its  form  and  arrange- 
ment. The  most  important  of  these  latter  was  the  division  of  the 


JVOTES 


251 

cext,  which  had  previously  been  printed  in  block,  into  a succession 
of  short  chapters,  each  topped  with  a smart  descriptive  summary 
of  its  purport,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Spanish  novels  of  roguish 
adventure,  and  of  some  later  English  novels/’  — Masson, 

98  : 1.  the  year  15920  See  Historical  Note  on  Catalina  cL 
Erauso , page  lix. 

98 : 3.  hidalgo.  This  is  the  title  given  in  Spain  to  noblemen 
of  the  lower  order.  De  Quincey-  accepts  the  popular  etymology  in 
supposing  that  the  word  stands  for  hijo  de  algo , son  of  something. 
It  is  really  derived,  however,  from  the  Old  Spanish  fidalgo , which, 
in  turn,  came  from  the  Latin  filius  Italicus  (a  Latin  son),  the  name 
given  to  a foreigner  upon  whom  the  right  of  Roman  citizenship  had 
been  conferred. 

98  : 3.  St.  Sebastian.  A sea-coast  town  of  northern  Spain, 
situated  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  three  hundred  and  eighty  miles 
north  of  Madrid.  It  is  the  capital  of  the  Basque  province  of 
Guipuzcoa.  So  strong  were  once  its  fortifications  that  Welling- 
ton, in  1813,  lost  five  thousand  of  his  soldiers  before  he  could 
compel  the  French  garrison  of  three  thousand  to  surrender. 

98  : 21.  terrae  filius.  A son  of  the  earth  ; a person  of  low  birth 
or  obscure  origin. 

98  : 22.  the  Flood.  See  Genesis  vii-viii. 

gg  : 2.  noblesse.  Nobility. 

99  : 6.  the  enterprises  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro.  Cortez  (1485- 
1547)  was  the  conqueror  of  Mexico,  Pizarro  (1476-1541)  of  Peru. 

99 ; 6.  Dons.  Don  (from  the  Latin  dominus , master)  is  a 
Spanish  title  formerly  confined  to  men  of  high  rank,  but  now 
applied  as  an  appellation  of  courtesy  to  all  persons  of  the  better 
class. 

99  s 12.  Castilian.  The  inhabitants  of  Castile,  the  central  dis- 
trict of  Spain,  have  always  been  the  most  haughty  and  aristocratic 
of  Spanish  peoples. 

99  : 29  that  saint.  Sebastian  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated 


252 


NOTES 


martyrs  of  the  early  Christian  church.  For  many  years  he  was 
ne  Roman  emperor  Diocletian’s  favorite  captain,  but  when  the 
emperor  learned  that  Sebastian  was  an  active  supporter  of  the 
Christian  faith  he  ordered  him  to  be  executed  by  the  royal  archers. 
Though  left  for  dead,  Sebastian  finally  recovered  from  his  wounds 
and  dared  to  reproach  the  emperor  with  his  impiety,  whereupon 
Diocletian  had  him  beaten  to  death  with  rods  and  his  body  buried 
m the  cloaca.  Sebastian  is  the  patron  saint  against  plague  and  & 
pestilence,  and  is  highly  reverenced  in  Italy  and  other  districts 
where  contagious  diseases  are  prevalent. 

99  : 30.  we  quarrel  furiously  about  tastes.  Cf.  the  Latin  prov- 
erb, Be  gustibus  non  est  disputandum , “There’s  no  disputing  about 
tastes,”  the  real  meaning  of  which  is  identical  with  that  of  the 
statement  here  made. 

100  : 11.  the  old  crocodile.  De  Quincey  is  fond  of  calling  people 
crocodiles  ; see  note  on  line  10,  page  53.  In  the  present  case  the 
metaphor  seems  to  have  been  suggested  by  the  hidalgo’s  tears, 
which  naturally  remind  one  of  the  tears  shed,  according  to  the 
story,  by  crocodiles  over  their  prey. 

ioo  : 16.  there  go  two  words  to  a bargain.  The  familiar  expres- 
sion, “There’s  two  words  to  that  bargain,”  first  occurs  in  the 
Polite  Conversations  of  Swift,  Dialogue  iii. 

102  : 3.  to  this  day.  M.  de  Yalon,  writing  in  1847,  says  that  the 
name  Erauso  even  then  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
families  of  Urnieta  ( Pevue  des  Deux  Mondes , Vol.  XVII,  page  634). 

102  : 3.  Biscay.  Here  and  elsewhere  De  Quincey  designates  by 
this  term  a district  in  the  north  of  Spain  comprising  the  three 
Basque  provinces,  Biscay  Proper,  Guipuzcoa,  and  Alava.  Com- 
monly, however,  the  name  “Biscay”  is  given  only  to  Biscay 
Proper,  of  which  province  Kate  was  not  a native. 

102  : 6.  the  fee-simple.  In  law,  a fee-simple  is  an  estate  belong- 
ing to  the  owner  and  his  heirs  and  assigns  forever  ; as  here  used, 
however,  “ fee-simple  ” is  equivalent  to  “ absolute  ownership.” 


NOTES 


253 


102  : 7.  “ to  have  and  to  hold.”  The  Marriage  Ceremony  of  the 
Church  of  England  contains  the  passage  : “I,M.  take  thee  N.  to  my 
wedded  Wife,  to  have  and  to  hold  from  this  day  forward.”  Hence 
the  title  of  Miss  Johnston’s  novel,  To  Have  and  to  Hold , which  is 
concerned  in  part  with  the  cargo  of  wives  brought  over  from  Eng- 
land to  the  early  Virginia  colonists. 

102  : 10.  as  a rose-bush  in  June.  See  note  on  line  15,  page  55. 

102:16.  “determine.”  Come  to  an  end. 

102  : 16.  chateaux  en  Espagne.  Castles  in  Spain  ; air-castles. 

102  : 22.  many  other  vanities,  etc.  In  1812,  1834,  1837,  1854, 
and  subsequent  years,  political  constitutions  tending  to  increase  the 
'rights  of  the  people  were  adopted  bjr  the  Spanish  Cortes.  The  chief 
Spanish  financial  reforms  during  De  Quincey’s  lifetime  were  those 
of  1822-1823,  1836,  1846,  and  1851.  The  bonds  referred  to  in  the 
text  were  issued  in  connection  with  these  reforms. 

103  : 12.  “blue  rejoicing  sky.”  This  echoes  a line  in  Addison’s 
celebrated  Ode , which  begins : — 

“ The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  etherial  sky, 

And  spangled  heavens,  a shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim.” 

103  : 13.  Biscayan  mountains.  The  Pyrenees,  which  form  the 
boundary  line  between  Spain  and  Prance. 

103  : 14.  that  glad  tumultuous  ocean.  See  note  on  line  3,  page 

98. 

103  : 16.  those  golden  tales.  Stories  of  the  wealth  of  Mexico 
and  Peru,  and  of  the  powerful  Spanish  kingdoms  founded  there. 

103  : 21.  no  romance,  or  at  least  no  fiction.  See  Historical  Note 
on  Catalina  de  Erauso , pages  lvii-lviii. 

103  : 25.  romances  in  Ariosto  or  our  own  Spenser,  etc.  Ariosto 
(1474-1533)  was  one  of  the  greatest  Italian  poets.  In  his  master- 
piece, Orlando  Furioso , are  to  be  found  Bradamant,  a wonderful 


254 


NOTES 


Christian  amazon,  whose  enchanted  spear  unhorses  all  opposing 
knights,  and  Marfisa,  a warlike  Indian  queen.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  figures  in  the  Faerie  Queene  of  Edmund  Spenser  (1552- 
1599)  is  Britomart,  the  daughter  of  the  King  of  Wales,  who  mas- 
querades  as  a knight  and  overcomes  all  resistance,  natural  or 
supernatural.  In  the  allegory  of  the  poem  she  represents  virgin 
purity  and  chastity. 

103  : 29.  The  day  is  come,  etc.  In  her  memoirs,  Catalina  says 
she  escaped  from  the  convent  on  the  morning  of  March  18,  1600 ; 
Yalon,  following  the  convent  registers,  makes  the  year  1607. 

104  : 4.  at  vespers.  The  vesper  service  of  the  Catholic  church 
occupies  the  sixth,  or  next  to  the  last,  of  the  canonical  hours. 

104  : 8.  scrutoire.  “ An  obsolete,  erroneous  form  of  scritoire 
for  escritoire .”  — Century  Dictionary. 

104  : 14.  total.  Comprising  the  whole,  lacking  no  member  or 
part.  Cf.  “The  total  chronicles  of  man”  (Tennyson,  Prin- 
cess, ii). 

104  : 15.  trousseau.  This  wTord  (O.  F.  trousseau , a little  truss) 
De  Quincey  takes  bodily  from  Yalon’ s narrative,  where  it  is  em- 
ployed in  its  primitive  sense  of  “ bunch.” 

104  : 20.  that  awful  door.  The  door  of  the  escritoire. 

104  : 31.  the  class  of  persons  in  whom  pre-eminently  I profess 
an  interest.  In  the  original  version  of  this  essay  (see  note  on  title, 
p.  98)  De  Quincey  adds  : “I,  for  my  part,  admire  not,  by  prefer- 
ence, any  thing  that  points  to  this  world.  It  is  the  child  of  revery  ( 
and  profounder  sensibility,  who  turns  away  from  the  world  as  hate- 
ful and  insufficient,  that  engages  my  interest ; whereas  Catalina 
was  the  very  model  of  the  class  fitted  for  facing  this  world,  and 
who  express  their  love  to  it  by  fighting  with  it  and  kicking  it  from 
year  to  year.” 

105  : 4.  hoc  age.  The  literal  meaning  of  this  Latin  phrase  is 
“do  this”  ; its  meaning  as  here  used  is  explained  by  De  Quincey. 

105  : 14.  the  Pope  himself.  See  note  on  line  24,  page  178. 


NOTES 


255 


105  : 30.  that  awful  Inquisition,  etc.  The  Spanish  Inquisition, 
as  a state  tribunal  for  the  punishment  of  heresy  toward  the  Roman 
Catholic  church,  began  its  terrible  career  in  1483,  under  Thomas 
de  Torquemada.  Its  cruelties  were  proverbial  and  the  number  of 
its  victims  almost  beyond  estimate.  Though  its  rigors  were  abated 
toward  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  it  was  not  until 
1834-1835  that  it  was  finally  abolished.  Primarily  concerned,  as 
it  was,  with  the  trial  of  heretics,  the  Inquisition  also  claimed 
jurisdiction  over  such  grave  ecclesiastical  offences  as  this  of 
Kate’s. 

106  : 1.  an  a priori  argument.  An  argument  leading  from  a 
general  principle  to  a particular  case. 

106  : 2.  all  scissors  were  bad  in  the  year  1607.  Yet,  even  early 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  England  had  acquired  a reputation 
throughout  Europe  for  the  excellence  of  her  cutlery,  and  Spanish 
steel  was  famed  the  world  over. 

106  : 3.  valet  consequentia.  A term  of  logic,  which  De  Quincey 
himself  translates. 

106  : 4.  ergo.  Therefore. 

106  : 8.  Jack  Ketch.  This  name,  which  is  now  bestowed  upon 
any  executioner,  seems  once  to  have  been  the  property  of  an  actual 
hangman,  who  executed  Lord  Russell  and  the  Duke  of  Monmouth. 

106  : 9.  “Mr.  Calcraft.”  After  the  year  1847  there  was  no  regu- 
lar hangman  at  Edinburgh,  where  De  Quincey  then  lived  ; but  when 
necessary,  Edinburgh  would  hire  the  London  executioner.  This 
functionary  in  De  Quincey ’s  day  was  William  Calcraft. 

106  : 13.  another  sort  of  “Jack.”  Jack  Tar,  who  gets  his  name 
from  the  tar  on  his  hands  and  clothes. 

106:  18.  this  word  viva,  etc.  Viva  (lit.  “long  live”)  is  an 
exclamatory  word  used  to  express  joy,  triumph,  applause,  or 
encouragement. 

106  : 24.  rushlight.  A rushlight  is  a candle  having  a wick  of 
rush  pith. 


NOTES 


m 

306  : 26.  shilly-shally.  This  phrase,  denoting  hesitation,  is  a 
corruption  of  “ Shall  I ? Shall  I ? ” 

106  : 29.  to  pay  the  first  toll-bar.  Paying  the  toll-bar  is  paying 

pass  the  gate  or  bar  across  a toll  road. 

107  : 6.  as  one  that  had  suffered  from  years  of  ague.  From  his 

second  to  his  fifth  year,  De  Quincey  was  an  almost  constant  sufferer ' 
from  ague  ; see  Page’s  Thomas  De  Quincey , Vol.  I,  page  19.  / 

107  : 13.  for  I detest,  etc.  “ Characteristic  of  De  Quincey,  and 
worth  remembering.”  — Masson. 

107  : 19.  to  cut  and  run.  A nautical  expression,  meaning  “to 
cut  the  cable  and  set  sail  immediately”;  hence,  “to  make  off 
suddenly,”  “to  hurry  away.” 

107  : 20.  “the  back  of  beyond.”  The  Century  Dictionary  gives 
this  as  a colloquial  phrase  meaning  “ a very  distant  or  out-of-the- 
way  place.” 

108  : 4.  an  inalienable  privilege,  etc.  It  is  worth  remember- 
ing just  here  that  such  liberty  as  Kate  was  seeking  is  among  the 
inalienable  rights  mentioned  in  the  American  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence. 

108  : 19.  I forgot  the  thimble,  etc.  The  inclusion  of  a thimble, 
however,  among  the  things  taken  by  Kate  is  a piece  of  pure  inven- 
tion on  De  Quincey’s  part. 

108  : 22.  sketched.  An  unusual  use  of  the  word  ; the  sense 
seems  to  be  “ rapidly  outlined  and  cut  out.” 

108  : 23.  Wellington  trousers.  Knee  trousers,  such  as  would 
be  worn  with  Wellington  boots. 

108  : 23.  All  other  changes.  Valon,  whose  account  De  Quincey 
has  in  mind,  tells  us  ( Benue  cles  Deux  Mondes , page  591)  that  Cata- 
lina also  made  herself  a doublet  and  gaiters,  besides  cutting  off  her 
long  hair. 

108  : 28.  Vittoria.  Vittoria,  the  capital  of  the  Basque  province 
of  Alava,  is  situated  some  fifty  miles  southwest  of  St.  Sebastian. 
See  also  note  on  line  12,  page  37. 


NOTES 


257 


log  : 8.  This  amiable  relative.  Don  Francisco  de  Cerralta,  a 

distant  cousin  of  Catalina’s  mother  ( Memoirs , Heredia’s  transla- 
tion, pages  4-5). 

109  : 15.  owned  the  soft  impeachment.  u I own  the  soft  im- 
peachment” is  a speech  of  Mrs.  Malaprop’s  in  Sheridan’s  comedy, 
The  Rivals , Act  V,  Scene  iii. 

iog  : 10.  uncular.  An  adjective  humorously  formed  from  the 
noun  uncle  after  the  model  of  avuncular . The  Century  Dictionary 
quotes  its  only  example  from  the  present  text. 

iog  : 18.  the  yarn  of  life  was  of  a mingled  quality.  Cf.  Shake- 
speare, All's  Well , Act  IV,  Scene  iii,  lines  83-84  : 44  The  web  of  our 
life  is  of  a mingled  yarn,  good  and  ill  together.” 

no  : 1.  Thiebault.  Presumably  this  is  Dieudonn^  Thiebault 
(1733-1807),  the  most  celebrated  French  writer  of  the  name.  His 
best-known  work  is  entitled  My  Recollections  of  Twenty  Years' 
Residence  in  Berlin  (5  vols.,  Paris,  1804). 

110  : 3.  s’ennuyer.  A French  reflexive  verb,  meaning  44  to  be 
weary.” 

no  : 8.  nous  nous  ennuyons.  We  are  weary. 

no  : 20.  Valladolid  is  the  capital  of  the  province  of  Valladolid 
in  Old  Castile.  It  is  situated  about  one  hundred  and  forty  miles 
southwest  of  Vittoria. 

no  : 22.  the  King.  Philip  III  (1578-1621)  ascended  the  Span- 
ish throne  on  September  13,  1598,  and  died  on  March  31,  1621. 

no  : 26.  the  gay  colours,  etc.  According  to  Valon  (see  note 
on  line  23,  page  108)  Catalina’s  small-clothes  were  blue,  her 
doublet  and  gaiters  green. 

in  : 8.  Alguazils.  Alguazil,  from  the  Arabic  al  (the)-f  wazir 
(vizier),  is  the  Spanish  title  of  an  inferior  officer  of  justice,  a con- 
stable or  policeman. 

in  : 13.  such  a thing  as  a treadmill.  The  treadmill,  as  once 
much  used  in  English  prisons,  was  invented  early  in  the  nineteenth 
century  by  Sir  William  Cubitt, 
s 


258 


ROTES 


hi  : 23.  a “daughter  of  somebody.”  Cf.  line  3,  page  98,  and 

note. 

hi  : 28.  Don  Francisco  de  Cardenas.  Perhaps  De  Quincey 
. thought  this  name  more  euphonius  than  the  “ Don  Carlos  de  Arrel- 
lano”  of  Valon  ( Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  592). 

1 12  : 3.  that  sublime  of  crocodiles.  Sublime  is  here  used  to 
denote  “that  which  has  been  elevated  and  sublimated  to  its 
extreme  limit.” 

1 13  : 33.  mandatory.  The  more  usual  spelling  of  this  noun  is 

manditary. 

1 14  : 10.  it  was  odds  but  she  had,  etc.  That  is,  it  would  have 
been  the  most  natural  thing  for  her  to  do  so. 

1 14  : 11.  a Frenchman.  Charles-Marie-Ferdinand- Alexis,  Vi- 

comte  de  Valon  (1818-1851),  author  of  an  article  entitled  Catalina 
de  Erauso , which  appeared  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  for  Feb- 
ruary 15,  1847.  For  some  account  of  this  article,  see  the  Historical 
Note  on  Catalina  de  Erauso , pages  lxiv-lxv.  Valon  was  just 
coming  into  prominence  as  a magazine  contributor  wrhen  he  sud- 
denly met  his  death  from  drowning.  Among  his  best-known  articles 
are  Prisons  de  France,  Aline  du  Bois , Francois  de  Civille , and 
a series  on  Spain. 

1 14  : 14.  says  . . . in  connexion  with  this  very  story,  etc.  The 
remark  referred  to,  which  reads  literally  : “Chance,  someone  has 
said,  is  perhaps  God’s  pseudonym  when  he  does  not  wish  to  sign 
his  own  name  ” ( Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  page  602),  is  indeed  made 
in  connection  with  this  story,  but  not  with  this  particular  incident. 

1 14  : 16.  imperials.  The  word  imperial  from  first  being  applied 
to  the  top  of  a diligence  soon  came  to  mean  a case  for  luggage 
that  might  be  carried  on  top  of  such  a vehicle. 

114  : 18.  Juvenal’s  qualification,  etc.  In  Juvenal’s  Tenth  Satire. 
line  22,  occurs  the  line  to  which  De  Quincey  makes  reference  : — 


“ Cantabit  vacuus  coram  latroue  viator.” 


NOTES 


259 


“The  traveller  whose  pockets  are  empty  will  sing  in  the  face  of 
a robber,” 

1 15  : 2.  apodeictically.  Indisputably. 

1 15  : 3.  in  Spain  there  were  no  potatoes  at  all,  etc.  Potatoes 
were  first  brought  to  Spain  from  Peru  about  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  were  first  imported  into  England 
from  Italy  in  1587.  Both  in  England  and  on  the  Continent  for 
at  least  a century  they  were  cultivated  merely  as  curiosities 
and  not  as  articles  of  food,  though  in  Gerard’s  Herbal  (1597) 
potatoes  are  mentioned  as  being  good  to  eat  when  roasted. 
It  would  seem  probable,  therefore,  that  while  there  were 
very  few  potatoes,  roasted  or  unroasted,  to  be  found  in  Eng- 
land in  1608,  there  were  certainly  quite  as  many  to  be  found  in 
Spain. 

1 16  : 14.  lords  of  the  bedchamber.  Officers  of  the  royal  house- 
hold, whose  duty  it  is  to  wait  in  the  king’s  bedchamber  and  to 
sleep  near  him  at  night. 

1 16  : 21.  Don  Ferdinand  de  Cordova.  Don  Luis  Fernandez  de 
Cordova,  Catalina  says  (Memoirs,  pages  12-13). 

1 16  : 22.  Andalusian.  Andalusia  is  a large  and  fertile  province 
in  the  south  of  Spain. 

1 16  : 29.  philo-garlic.  The  Century  Dictionary  says  of  this 
word  (<Greek  <f>i\eTv , love,  + English  garlic)  that  it  is  rare,  and 
refers  to  the  present  passage  for  an  example  of  its  use.  Its  mean- 
ing is  44  fond  of  garlic.” 

1 17  : 5.  Andalusia  she  reached  rather  slowly,  etc.  In  this  con- 
nection, and  elsewhere,  the  reader  should  compare  De  Quincey’s 
account  of  Catalina’s  adventures  with  her  own  story  as  outlined 
in  the  Historical  Note,  pages  lix-lxiv. 

1 17  : 6.  Seville.  As  St.  Sebastian  is  in  the  extreme  north  of 
Spain,  so  Seville  is  in  the  extreme  south.  The  distance  between 
the  two  places  is  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 

1 17  : 6.  before  she  was  sixteen.  That  is,  early  in  the  year  1608. 


260 


NOTES 


Catalina  herself,  however,  claims  to  have  sailed  from  St.  Lucar  or, 
Holy  Monday,  1603  ( Memoirs , page  13). 

1 17  : 12.  St.  Lucar.  San  Lucar  de  Barrameda,  a seaport  of 
southwestern  Spain,  is  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  Guadalquivir, 
eighteen  miles  north  of  Cadiz  and  some  sixty  down  the  river  from 
Seville.  Here  Columbus  embarked  on  his  third  voyage  (1498), 
and  from  this  port  Magellan  sailed  forth  (1519)  to  circumnavigate 
the  globe. 

1 17  : 15.  She  was  at  once  engaged  as  a mate.  As  an  illustration 
of  De  Quincey’s  habit  of  improving  upon  his  original  — to  Catalina’s 
advantage,  always  — it  may  here  be  noted  that  Valon.  following 
the  Memoirs , says  {Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  393)  that  Catalina 
took  service  as  a cabin-boy  {mousse). 

117:17.  and  her  ship  . . . destination.  u The  reader  who 
would  follow  Kate’s  adventures  geographically  must  not  neglect 
these  two  snort  and  hasty  sentences.  They  carry  her  away  from 
Spain  and  Europe  altogether,  across  the  Atlantic  to  South  America, 
— nay,  not  only  across  the  Atlantic  to  South  America,  but  round 
Cape  Horn,  to  the  west  or  Pacific  coast  of  South  America,  and  to  a 
point  far  north  on  that  coast.  Paita  or  Payta  is  a seaport  of  the 
Pacific  in  the  extreme  north  of  Peru,  about  five  degrees  below  the 
Equator.  All  the  long  voyage  of  thousands  of  miles  is  suppressed.  ” 

— Masson. 

1 18  : 10.  his  Catholic  Majesty.  The  first  Catholic  king  of  Spain 
was  Recaredo,  the  Visigoth,  who  died  in  601.  When  he  announced 
his  conversion  to  the  Catholic  faith,  and  later  proclaimed  that  the 
Roman  Catholic  religion  was  thenceforth  to  be  the  religion  of  his 
kingdom,  Pope  Gregory  the  Great  was  so  delighted  that  he  wished 
to  show  Recaredo  some  mark  of  special  favor.  He  therefore  sent 
him  numerous  sacred  relics,  addressing  him  as  “ His  Majesty,  the 
First  Catholic  King  of  Spain.”  Thus  originated  the  title  “ Catholic 
Majesty”  as  applied  to  Recaredo’s  successors. 

1 18  : 11.  the  underwriters  at  Lloyd’s.  Lloyd's  Coffee  House 


NOTES 


261 


was  the  original  headquarters  or  ail  the  London  underwriters  *. 
hence  the  name  “ Lloyd’s  ” is  now  given  to  a London  association 
for  the  transaction  of  marine  insurance  and  the  promotion  of  ship- 
ping interests  in  general.  The  present  meeting-place  of  this  associa- 
tion is  a set  of  rooms  on  the  ground  floor  of  the  Royal  Exchange. 

119  : 2.  ducats  and  pistoles.  Gold  coins  issued  by  several 
different  European  countries  and  varying  considerably  in  value 
from  time  to  time. 

1 19  : 6.  Now,  this,  you  know,  though  not  “flotsam,”  etc. 
According  to  Blackstone,  jetsam  is  the  name  given  to  goods  which, 
when  thrown  into  the  sea,  there  sink  and  remain  under  wTater ; 
while  flotsam  denotes  such  goods  as  continue  swimming.  Flotsam 
and  jetsam,  however,  are  not  the  lawful  spoils  of  the  finders,  but 
must  be  given  up  to  those  who  can  prove  their  right  to  them  ; if 
unclaimed,  they  must  be  turned  over  to  the  Board  of  Admiralty 
and  the  proceeds  of  their  sale  applied  to  public  purposes.  Hence 
the  interest  taken  in  such  matters  by  the  First  Lord  and  the  Secre- 
tary, mentioned  below  (lines  14-16). 

119  : 9.  a very  fair  8vo.  In  Ferrer’s  edition  Catalina’s  memoirs 
occupy  an  octavo  volume. 

ng  : 16.  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  and  the  Secretary,  etc. 

See  note  on  line  23,  page  15. 

120:  19.  She  might  have  tossed  up  . . . heads  or  tails!  etc. 
The  practice  of  tossing  up  a coin  in  order  to  decide  some  difficult 
point,  a common  one  all  over  the  world  at  the  present  day,  seems 
to  have  been  familiar  to  the  ancient  Romans,  for  Macrobius  tells  us 
( Saturnalia , Book  I,  Chapter  VII)  that  the  Roman  boys  used  to 
throw  coins  into  the  air,  calling  out  “ capita  ant  navia ,”  “ heads  or 
ships.”  Similar  in  principle,  and  perhaps  also  in  the  actual  method 
of  operation,  was  the  Jewish  custom  of  casting  lots,  so  frequently 

4 

referred  to  in  the  Bible. 

i2o:25.  Mrs.  Bobo.  “Who  is  Mrs.  Bobo?  The  reader  will 
say,  4 1 know  not  Bobo.  ’ Possibly  ; but,  for  all  that , Bobo  is  known 


262 


NOTES 


to  senates.  From  the  American  Senate  (Friday,  March  10,  1854) 
Bobo  received  the  amplest  testimonials  of  merits  that  have  not  yet 
been  matched.  In  the  debate  on  William  Nevins’  claim  for  the 
extension  of  his  patent  for  a machine  that  rolls  and  cuts  crackers 
and  biscuits,  thus  spoke  Mr.  Adams,  a most  distinguished  senator, 
against  Mr.  Badger  — 4 It  is  said  this  is  a discovery  of  the  patentee 
for  making  the  best  biscuits.  Now,  if  it  be  so,  he  must  have  got 
his  invention  from  Mrs.  Bobo  of  Alabama  ; for  she  certainly  makes 
better  biscuit  than  anybody  in  the  world.  I can  prove  by  my 
friend  from  Alabama  (Mr.  Clay),  who  sits  beside  me,  and  by  any 
man  who  ever  staid  at  Mrs.  Bobo’s  house,  that  she  makes  better 
biscuit  than  anybody  else  in  the  world  ; and  if  this  man  has  the  best 
plan  for  making  biscuit,  he  must  have  got  it  from  her.'  Hencefor- 
ward I hope  we  know  where  to  apply  for  biscuit.”  — De  Quince y. 

120 : 28.  a caput  mortuum  (lit.  a dead  head)  is  anything  from 
which  all  that  rendered  it  valuable  has  been  removed. 

1 21  : 8.  the  juste  milieu.  The  happy  medium. 

1 21  : 17.  1854.  This  date  was  substituted  in  the  Collective 
Edition  for  the  “ 1847  ” of  Tail's  Magazine. 

1 21  : 27.  she  looked.  i;  If  ever  the  reader  should  visit  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  he  will  probably  feel  interest  enough  in  the  poor,  wild, 
impassioned  girl  to  look  out  for  a picture  of  her  in  that  city,  and 
the  only  one  known  certainly  to  be  authentic.  It  is  in  the  collec- 
tion of  Mr.  Sempeller.  For  some  time  it  was  supposed  that  the  best 
(if  not  the  only)  portrait  of  her  lurked  somewhere  in  Italy.  Since 
the  discovery  of  the  picture  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  that  notion  has 
been  abandoned.  But  there  is  great  reason  to  believe  that,  both  in 
Madrid  and  Home,  many  portraits  of  her  must  have  been  painted 
to  meet  the  intense  interest  which  arose  in  her  history  subse- 
quently amongst  all  men  of  rank,  military  or  ecclesiastical, 
whether  in  Italy  or  Spain.  The  date  of  these  would  range  between 
sixteen  and  twenty -two  years  from  the  period  which  we  have  now 
reached  (1608).” — De  Quincey, 


NOTES 


263 


Z2i:27.  caballador.  Cavalier. 

122  : 9.  Trujillo.  This  town,  the  modern  Truxillo,  is  situated  on 
the  coast  of  Peru,  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  south  of  Paita„ 

122  : 19.  commis.  Clerk. 

122  : 27.  a very  handsome  lady.  Dona  Beatriz  de  Cardenas  was 
her  name. 

123:9.  “Live  a thousand  years.”  The  phrase  “Viva  mil 
anos,”  which  literally  means,  “Live  a thousand  years,”  is  a 
Spanish  conversational  idiom,  used  in  the  sense  of  “I  am  obliged 
to  you.”  % • 

124  : 8.  Biscayan.  See  note  on  “ Biscay,”  line  3,  page  102. 

124  : 25.  the  corregidor.  The  chief  magistrate. 

125  : 7.  By  some  means  not  very  luminously  stated.  Valon  is, 
indeed,  not  very  clear  in  his  story  of  the  escape  ; he  says  ( Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes , pages  598-599)  that  Dona  Beatriz  carried  Catalina 
a disguise  and  that  the  latter  escaped  by  pretending  to  be  Beatriz. 
Catalina  herself  says  that  she  was  released  from  prison  at  Urquiza’s 
request. 

125  : 12.  jealous.  The  word  is  here  used  in  its  broad  sense  of 
“ suspicious.” 

125  : 21.  to  love,  honour,  and  obey.  In  the  marriage  ceremony 
of  the  English  Church,  the  woman  promises  “to  love,  cherish, 
and  to  obey”  her  husband. 

126  : 29.  a pacha  of  two  tails.  Pachd  is  a Turkish  title  of  rank, 
given  to  high  civil  and  military  authorities.  The  distinctive  badge 
of  a pacha  is  one  or  more  horse-tails  waving  from  the  end  of  a 
staff ; in  time  of  war  this  badge  is  carried  before  him  or  planted  in 
front  of  his  tent.  The  three  grades  of  pachas  are  distinguished  by 
the  number  of  horse-tails  on  their  standards,  the  pachas  of  three 
tails  being  the  most  important. 

127  : 24.  “ Sound  the  trumpets  ! ” etc.  The  well-known  lines  : — 

‘ ‘ See  the  conquering  hero  comes  ! 

Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drums  ! ” 


264 


NOTES 


first  appeared  in  the  Joshua  of  Handel  (1685-1759),  a celebrate^ 
German  composer,  who,  during  a large  part  of  his  life,  made  his 
home  in  England.  The  text  of  this  oratorio  was  written  by 
Dr.  Thomas  Morell,  a clergyman. 

128  : 2.  a modern  waltzer.  See  note  on  line  13,  page  156. 

129  : 7.  As  sailors  whistle  for  a wind.  A superstitious  practice, 
common  among  old  seamen,  of  whistling  during  a calm  to  obtain 
z breeze.  Such  men  will  not  whistle  at  all  during  a storm . 

129  : 12.  Like  Caesar  to  the  pilot  of  Dyrrhachium,  etc.  Refer- 
ence is  here  made  to  an  incident  related  by  the  historians  Plutarch, 
Florus,  Valerius  Maximus,  Appian,  and  Suetonius,  but  not  by 
Csesar  himself.  We  are  told  that  when,  during  the  war  with 
Pompey,  Caesar,  with  a part  of  his  troops,  had  long  been  waiting 
at  Appolonia,  near  Dyrrhachium,  for  the  arrival  of  the  rest  of  his 
forces  from  Brundisium,  he  at  last  grew  weary  of  the  delay,  and 
disguising  himself  as  a common  sailor,  embarked  in  a twelve-cared 
boat,  in  order  to  visit  Brundisium  in  person.  The  weaves  of  the  sea 
soon  became  so  violent,  however,  that  the  master  of  the  boat  ordered 
his  sailors  to  tack  about  and  return.  Thereupon  Caesar  disclosed 
his  identity,  using,  according  to  Appian,  the  words : “ Brave  the 
tempest  with  a stout  heart ; you  carry  Caesar  and  Caesar’s  for- 
tunes-5 ( History  of  Home,  Book  II,  Chapter  IX,  White’s  transla- 
tion). The  sailors,  however,  despite  all  their  efforts,  were  finally 
obliged  to  return  to  land. 

44  Catalinam  vnhis  et  fortunas  ejus  ” means  : 44  Yot*  carry  Cata- 
lina and  her  fortunes.” 

129  : 14.  44 carried  on.”  The  nautical  phrase,  carry  on , is 
defined  by  the  Century  Dictionary  as  meaning  44to  continue  carry- 
ing a large  spread  of  canvas”;  De  Quincey,  however,  uses  the 
expression,  as  the  context  shows,  in  a very  different  sense, 

129  : 24.  sixty  years  later,  etc.  During  the  latter  half  of  the 
seventeen  in  century,  French  and  English  pirates  committed  frequent 
depredations  on  the  Spanish  in  America. 


NOTES 


26& 


130  : 7.  as  you  may  see  an  Etonian  cto.  Eton,  situated  on  the 
Thames,  opposite  Windsor,  is  one  of  the  most  famous  of  English 
educational  institutions;  it  was  founded  in  1440  by  Henry  VI. 
The  Eton  boys  are  noted  for  their  skill  in  managing  river-craft. 

130  : 11.  to  tap  it.  To  tap , in  surgery,  meaiB  to  puncture  the 
outer  walls  of  (the  body),  to  draw  off  fluid  accumulated  within 
some  inner  cavity;  as,  to  tap  a dropsical  patient.” 

— Century  Dictionary . 

130  : 19.  Concepcion.  A town  on  the  coast  of  Chili,  more  than 
two  thousand  miles  south  of  Paita. 

130  : 24.  his  name.  Miguel  de  Erauso. 

130  : 27.  the  Governor-GeneraTs.  Alonso  de  Ribera  was  then 
Governor  of  Chili. 

13 1 : 1.  described  as  a Biscayan.  Catalina  had  enlisted  as 
Pedro  Diaz  de  San  Sebastian. 

13 1 ; 7.  some  scene  of  domestic  reunion,  etc.  For  example,  the 
meeting  of  Esau  and  Jacob,  Genesis  xxxiii.  1-15. 

1 31  : 24.  one  having  authority.  See  note  on  line  14,  page  46. 

131  : 28.  the  decisive  battle  of  Puren.  Catalina  herself  says 
( Memoirs , pages  41-43)  that  the  exploit  here  recorded  took  place  at 
the  battle  of  Valdivia,  which  was  fought  on  the  plains  of  the  same 
name  in  southern  Chili  in  the  year  1606.  She  claims  also  to  have 
oeen  present  at  the  battle  of  Puren,  fought  two  years  later.  As 
Valon’s  account  ( Bevue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  603)  is  substantially 
the  same  as  the  nun’s,  we  are  left  to  suppose  that  De  Quincey 
either  inadvertently  confused  the  two  engagements  or  purposely 
substituted  Puren  for  Valdivia  in  order  to  avoid  an  evident  chrono- 
logical impossibility. 

132  : 7.  Alferez.  “This  rank  in  the  Span  sh  army  is,  or  was, 
on  a level  with  the  modern  sous-lieutenam  of  France.” 

— De  Quincey. 

To  this  note,  a partial  translation  of  one  by  Valon  ( Bevue 
des  Deux  Mondes , p.  603),  should  be  added  Valon’s  further  state- 


266 


NOTES 


ment  that,  “at  that  time  an  alf^rez  was,  as  it  seems,  an  ensign  01 
cornet.” 

132  : 8.  the  King  of  Spain  and  the  Indies.  Philip  II  (1527- 

1598)  seems  to  have  been  the  lirst  Spanish  king  to  assume  this  title. 

132  : 14.  “prescribed.”  To  prescribe,  in  law,  is  to  become  in- 
valid through  lapse  of  time. 

132  : 19.  years.  About  five,  according  to  Catalina  ( Memoirs , 
page  43)  ; De  Quincey  would  have  us  suppose  a very  much  longer 
period. 

133  : 12.  Thv.t  word  “kill,”  etc.  Cf.  Valon’s  remark  (Pevue 
des  Deux  Mondes , page  635)  : “ For  her  the  death  of  a man  is  the 
merest  trifle.  ‘ She  arrives  in  such  and  such  a citv,’  she  often 
writes  (speaking  of  herself,  as  Caesar  did,  in  the  third  person),  ‘and 
kills  one,  mala  a uno .’  ” 

133  : 15.  Years  after  this  period.  De  Quincey’s  exact  meaning 
is  not  altogether  clear  ; perhaps  “ this  period  ” is  intended  to  refer 
to  the  time  of  Catalina’s  promotion. 

133  : 30.  a usage  not,  peculiar  to  Spaniards,  etc.  Among  the 
practices  of  the  French  duel  introduced  into  England  after  the 
Restoration  (1660)  was  that  of  expecting  the  seconds,  as  well  as 
the  principals,  to  fight. 

134  : 8.  the  right  of  asylum.  In  ancient  times  the  temples  and 
altars  of  the  gods  were  appointed  as  asylums  to  which  the  guilty 
could  flee  for  refuge.  A similar  privilege  of  retreat  to  sacred  places 
was  long  granted  by  the  Christian  church,  until  its  abuse  by  crimi- 
nals led  to  its  final  abolition. 

134  : 16.  It  was  the  sea  that  had  brought  her  to  Peru,  etc.  The 
sea  had  indeed  brought  Catalina  to  Peru , but  she  was  no  longer  in 
Peru.  The  duel  with  her  brother  was  fought  near  Concepcion,  in 
Chili  ( Memoirs , page  53). 

134  : 23.  the  coast.  In  reality  the  coast  of  Chili,  not  of  Peru. 

135  : 1.  the  Cordilleras.  The  Andes,  more  properly  called  “las 
Cordilleras  de  los  Andes,"  “ the  chains  of  the  Andes.” 


NOTES 


267 


135  : 8.  the  river  Dorado.  Dorado  is  Spanish  for  “golden”; 
El  Dorado,  “ the  golden,”  was  a mythical  country  rich  in  gold  and 
jewels,  supposed  by  the  Spanish  soldiers  of  this  period  to  be  situ- 
ated somewhere  in  the  northern  part  of  South  America.  “The 
river  Dorado  ” flowed  through  this  land. 

135  : 27.  fell  cent  per  cent.  The  horse  fell  one  hundred  points 
in  value  for  each  one  hundred  points  he  was  worth ; i0e.  became 
absolutely  worthless. 

136  : 10.  a discretion.  At  will. 

136  : 15.  their  last  billet.  A soldier’s  billet  is  a ticket  assigning 
him  to  quarters. 

137  : 12.  sleeping  the  sleep,  etc.  Cf.  Scott’s  Lady  of  the  Lake , 
Canto  I,  Stanza  xxxi : — 

“ Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 

Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. ” 

137  : 17.  This  dreadful  spectacle.  Vaion  tells  us  ( [Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes , page  609)  that  such  a sight  was  frequently  to  be 
encountered  at  the  time  when  slave-dealers  made  their  blacks  cross 
the  Andes  on  the  way  from  Buenos  Ayres  to  Peru  ; the  dead  bodies 
would  sometimes  be  preserved  by  the  cold  for  a whole  year. 

137  : 32.  tirailleur’s.  Tirailleur  is  the  French  name  for  a 
sharpshooter. 

138  : 11.  Coleridge’s  Ancient  Mariner.  The  Dime  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner , by  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  (1772-1834),  first  appeared 
among  the  Lyrical  Ballads  (1798)  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth, 
one  of  the  epoch-making  books  in  the  history  of  English  literature. 
The  student  should  read,  or  reread,  this  poem  carefully  in  order  to 
appreciate  De  Quincey’s  comments. 

139  : 2.  a Cain.  See  Genesis  iv. 

139  : 2.  Wandering  Jew.  In  John  xxi.  22  we  read  that  Jesus 
said  to  Peter  concerning  the  beloved  disciple  : “ If  I will  that  he 
tarry  till  I come,  what  is  that  to  thee  ? follow  thou  me.”  From 


* 268 


NOTES 


these  words  there  arose  among  the  brethren  a belief  “that  thai 
disciple  should  not  die  ” ; and  to  this  belief  is  traceable  the  ancient 
and  widespread  legend  of  a Jew  who  cannot  die,  but  in  punish- 
ment for  some  sin  against  Jesus  must  wander  over  the  face  of  the 
earth  until  at  the  last  day  Christ  shall  pronounce  his  doom.  One 
version  of  the  legend  says  that  he  is  Ahasuerus,  a shoemaker,  who 
refused  to  let  Christ  rest  before  his  shop ; another  identifies  him 
with  Pilot’s  doorkeeper,  Kartaphilus,  who  struck  Jesus  on  the 
back.  The  story  of  the  Jew’s  wanderings  has  received  frequent 
literary  treatment  in  both  prose  and  verse  ; the  best-known  novels 
in  which  he  figures  are  Eugene  Sue’s  Le  Juif  Errant , Dr.  Croly’s 
Salathiel , and  Lew  Wallace’s  The  Prince  of  India. 

139  • 3.  4 pass  like  night,’  etc.  “ I pass  like  night  from  land  to 
land  ” is  a line  (73)  to  be  found  in  the  Ancient  Mariner , Part  VII. 

139  *.  6.  ‘holding  children  from  their  play,’  etc.  “ The  beauti- 
ful words  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney  in  his  4 Defense  of  Poesie.’” 

— De  Quincey. 

The  exact  words  are : 4 4 [a  tale  which]  holdeth  children  from 
play,  and  old  men  from  the  chimney-corner”  (Sidney's  Miscel- 
laneous Works , page  85). 

139  : 14.  In  the  darkness  of  his  cruel  superstition,  etc.  From 
their  habit  of  following  ships  for  days,  albatrosses  are  regarded  with 
feelings  of  attachment  and  superstitious  awe  by  sailors,  and  it  is 
considered  unlucky  to  kill  one.  But  the  Ancient  Mariner  believed 
that  the  particular  albatross  following  his  ship  was  the  cause  of 
the  fog  and  mist  surrounding  the  vessel,  and  hence  slew  the  bird. 

139  : 16.  The  Nemesis.  In  Greek  mythology,  Nemesis  was  the 
goddess  of  retributive  justice. 

139  : 22.  44  That  loved  the  hire..  Gc.  See  Ancient  Mariner 
Part  V,  lines  106-109  : — 

“ The  spirit  who  bidetli  by  himself 
Tn  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 

He  loved  the  bird  that  loved  the  man 
Who  shot  him  with  his  bow.” 


NOTES 


269 


139  : 26.  u Nine  fathom  deep,’'  etc  Lines  61-52  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner , Part  II,  read ; — 

“ Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow.” 

140  : 23.  her  native  Basque.  The  natives  of  the  Basque  prov- 
inces speak  a language  peculiarly  their  own.  It  cannot  be  classed 
among  Aryan  or  Semitic  tongues,  but  has  points  in  common  with 
certain  Mongol,  African,  and  American  dialects. 

141  . 20.  Flying  in  panic,  etc.  Cf.  Proverbs  xxviii.  1 : u The 
wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth.” 

141  : 21.  Not  for  the  first  time,  Kate  wept.  Perhaps  it  would 
have  surprised  De  Quincey  had  he  read  in  Catalina’s  Memoirs 
(page  56),  “ I wept  — I think  it  was  for  the  first  time.” 

141  : 27.  A Frenchman.  See  note  on  line  11,  page  114. 

141  : 29.  his  opinion.  “ Left  alone,  the  adventuress  knelt  down, 
bega^  to  weep,  and  prayed  God  earnestly,  doubtless  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  ” ( Bevue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  609). 

142:2.  “moncher.”  My  dear. 

142  : 4.  You  ...  I love  oftentimes,  etc.  In  all  that  De  Quincey 
wrote,  however,  can  be  seen  his  more  than  ordinary  insular  preju- 
dice against  the  French. 

142  : 31.  in  extremities  of  general  famine,  etc.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  remember  that  it  remained  for  a Frenchman,  Victor  Hugo, 
in  his  Les  Miser ables,  to  illustrate  most  strikingly  the  injustice  of 
such  punishment. 

144  : 8.  blue  serene.  Cf.  Shelley’s  Revolt  of  Islam , Canto  I, 
Stanza  iv,  line  5 : — 

“ Beneath  that  opening  spot  of  blue  serene.” 

145  : 32.  revolved.  See  note  on  line  18,  page  38. 

146  : 1.  the  arrears  of  the  road.  The  parts  of  the  road  still  to 
be  traversed.  Similarly  “ arrear  of  . . . strength”  (line  14)  means 
the  strength  held  in  reserve  and  still  to  be  put  forth. 


270 


NOTES 


146  : 22.  blossoms  . . . rehearsing  . . . the  resurrections  oi 
Life.  Cf.  Autobiographic  Sketches , Works,  Yol.  II,  page  32. 

147  : 8.  nor  creeping  thing,  etc.  Note  the  perfect  rhythm  of  this 

passage. 

148  : 17.  some  winged  patriarchal  herald  of  wrath  relenting. 

See  Genesis  viii.  10-11  for  an  account  of  the  winged  herald  that 
came  to  Noah. 

148  : 26.  as  the  Christian  pinnace,  etc.  The  corsairs  were 
pirates  from  Algiers,  Tunis,  Tripoli,  and  Morocco,  who,  after  about 
the  fourteenth  century,  were  long  the  terror  of  all  Christian  mer- 
chantmen sailing  the  Mediterranean,  The  word  corsair  may  also 
be  used,  as  here,  to  designate  a vessel  manned  by  such  pirates. 

148  : 32.  a city  of  refuge.  Among  the  ancient  Jews  six  cities 
of  Palestine  were  appointed  as  places  of  refuge  and  safety,  “that 
whosoever  killeth  any  person  at  unawares  might  flee  thither,  and 
not  die  by  the  hand  of  the  avenger  of  blood,  until  he  stood  before 
the  congregation.”  See  Numbers  xxxv ; Deuteronomy  xix ; 
Joshua  xx. 

149  : 17.  not  built  with  hands.  “ We  have  a building  of  God- 
an  house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.”  — 2 Cor - 
intliians  v.  1. 

149  : 25.  “The  sun,  that  rejoices.”  In  Psalms  xix.  5,  we  are 
told  that  the  sun  “ rejoicetli  as  a strong  man  to  run  a race.” 

149  : 29.  the  Angelus.  The  word  angelus  means  : (1)  a Roman 
Catholic  prayer  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  beginning  with  the  w^ords 
“ Angelus  Domini ,”  “The  angel  of  the  Lord  ” ; (2)  as  here,  the 
bell,  which  at  morning,  noon,  and  evening  announces  the  time  for 
the  recitation  of  this  prayer. 

150  : 11.  Little  is  mentioned  of  the  delusions  which  possessed 
her.  Nothing  at  all,  in  fact,  either  by  Yalon  or  by  Catalina  herself. 

150  : 18.  like  an  army  with  banners.  “ Terrible  as  an  army 
with  banners  ” is  to  be  found  in  the  Song  of  Solomon  vi.  4. 

150  : 23.  St.  Bernard’s  hospice.  The  hospice  of  St.  Bernard, 


NOTES 


271 


rounded  in  962  by  Bernard  de  Meuthon,  a Savoyard  nobleman, 
stands  at  the  crest  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard  pass  over  the  Pennine 
Alps.  Eight  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  level,  it  is  one  of  the 
highest  habitations  in  Europe.  Within  the  hospice  dwell  ten  or 
twelve  St.  Augustine  monks,  who,  with  the  aid  of  their  noble 
dogs,  have  saved  hundreds  of  travellers  from  death  by  exposure  to 
the  cold  and  snow.  As  many  as  five  hundred  persons  have  sought 
shelter  within  the  hospice  during  a single  day. 

1 51  : 2.  like  the  mist  . . . upon  the  river  of  the  American  St. 
Peter,  etc.  It  is  difficult  to  say  exactly  to  what  river  De  Quincey 
here  makes  reference.  The  great  geographical  authority  of  De 
Quincey’s  day  was  the  Geographie  JJniverselle  of  Malte-Brun 
(8  vois.,  Paris,  1824-1828)  ; in  this  work  the  Minnesota  River  is 
called  the  St.  Peter’s,  but  no  mention  is  made  of  its  mists.  Nor 
is  anything  said  of  mists  in  Eeatherstonhaugh’s  Canoe  Voyage  up 
the  Minnay  Sotor  (1847).  Returning  to  Malte-Brun,  we  find  that 
he  mentions  no  other  St.  Peter’s  River,  but  that  he  makes  some 
very  interesting  remarks  about  Niagara  Falls  (Vol.  Ill,  Book  78)  : 
“The  great  cataract  is  continually  obscured  with  vapor,  which  may 
be  distinguished  at  a very  considerable  distance  ; and  its  foaming 
billows  appear  to  float  in  the  heavens.  As  the  density  of  the  mist 
varies,  the  adjacent  forests  and  rocks  are  occasionally  perceived, 
and  they  add  to  the  splendor  of  the  scene.”  De  Quincey  may 
well  have  had  some  such  description  in  mind  when  he  made  the 
reference  under  consideration.  But  here  another  difficulty  arises  ; 
he  might  very  correctly  have  thought  of  the  Niagara  River  as  a part 
of  the  St.  Lawrence,  but  why  should  he  have  called  St.  Lawrence 
the  American  St.  Peter  ? 

1 51  : 14.  the  sun  is  holding  out  his  golden  Christian  signal,  etc. 
Cf.  “ Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  your  wrath.”  — Ephesians  iv.  26. 

15 1 : 22.  Captain  Bunsby’s.  This  wise  gentleman,  the  oracle 
of  all  his  neighbors,  is  a character  in  Dickens’s  Domhey  and  Son . 

151  s 29.  some  stimulus  from  earthly  vineyards.  u Though  not 


272 


NOTES 


exactly  in  the  same  circumstances  as  Kate,  or  sleeping,  a la  belli 
etoile , on  a declivity  of  the  Andes,  I have  known  (or  heard  cir- 
cumstantially reported)  the  cases  of  many  ladies,  besides  Kate, 
who  wrere  in  precisely  the  same  critical  danger  of  perishing  for 
want  of  a little  brandy.  A dessert-spoonful  or  two  would  have 
saved  them.  Avaunt ! you  wicked  4 Temperance  ’ medalist ! re- 
pent as  fast  as  ever  you  can,  or,  perhaps,  the  next  time  we  hear 
of  you,  anasarca  and  hydro-thorax  will  be  running  after  you,  to 
punish  your  shocking  excesses  in  water.  Seriously,  the  case  is 
one  of  constant  recurrence,  and  constantly  ending  fatally  from 
unseasonable  and  pedantic  rigour  of  temperance.  Dr.  Darwin, 
the  famous  author  of  Zoonomia,  The  Botanic  Garden , etc.,  sac- 
rificed his  life  to  the  very  pedantry  and  superstition  of  temper- 
ance, by  refusing  a glass  of  brandy  in  obedience  to  a system,  at  a 
moment  when  (according  to  the  opinion  of  all  around  him)  one 
single  glass  would  have  saved  his  life.  The  fact  is,  that  the  medical 
profession  composes  the  most  generous  and  liberal  body  of  men 
amongst  us  ; taken  generally,  by  much  the  most  enlightened  ; but, 
professionally,  the  most  timid.  Want  of  boldness  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  opium,  etc.,  though  they  can  be  bold  enough  with 
mercury,  is  their  besetting  infirmity.  And  from  this  infirmity 
females  suffer  most.  One  instance  I need  hardly  mention,  the 
fatal  case  of  an  august  lady,  mourned  by  nations  [the  Princess 
Charlotte,  who  died  in  child-birth  6th  Nov.  1817],  with  respect  to 
whom  it  was,  and  is,  the  belief  of  multitudes  to  this  hour  (well 
able  to  judge),  that  she  would  have  been  saved  by  a glass  of 
brandy  ; and  her  chief  medical  attendant,  Sir  R.  C.  [Sir  Richard 
Croft] , who  shot  himself,  came  to  think  so  too  late  — too  late  for 
her,  and  too  late  for  himself.  Amongst  many  cases  of  the  same 
nature,  which  personally  I have  been  acquainted  with,  thirty  years 
ago,  a man  illustrious  for  his  intellectual  accomplishments  1 men- 

1 On  second  thoughts,  I see  no  reason  for  scrupling  to  mention  that 
this  man  was  Robert  Southey. 


NOTES 


273 


tioned  to  me  that  his  own  wife,  during  her  first  or  second  con- 
finement, was  suddenly  reported  to  him,  by  one  of  her  female 
attendants  (who  slipped  away  unobserved  by  the  medical  people), 
as  undoubtedly  sinking  fast.  He  hurried  to  her  chamber,  and 
saw  that  it  was  so.  On  this,  he  suggested  earnestly  some  stimu- 
lant— laudanum  or  alcohol.  The  presiding  medical  authority, 
however,  was  inexorable.  4 Oh,  by  no  means,’  shaking  his  am- 
brosial wig  ; 4 any  stimulant  at  this  crisis  would  be  fatal.’  But  no 
authority  could  overrule  the  concurrent  testimony  of  all  symptoms, 
and  of  all  unprofessional  opinions.  By  some  pious  falsehood,  my 
friend  smuggled  the  doctor  out  of  the  room,  and  immediately 
smuggled  a glass  of  brandy  into  the  poor  lady’s  lips.  She  recov- 
ered as  if  under  the  immediate  afflatus  of  magic  ; so  sudden  was  her 
recovery,  and  so  complete.  The  doctor  is  now  dead,  and  went  to  his 
grave  under  the  delusive  persuasion  — that  not  any  vile  glass  of 
brandy,  but  the  stern  refusal  of  all  brandy,  was  the  thing  that 
saved  his  collapsing  patient.  The  patient  herself,  who  might  natu- 
rally know  something  of  the  matter,  was  of  a different  opinion. 
She  sided  with  the  factious  body  around  her  bed  (comprehending 
all,  beside  the  doctor),  who  felt  sure  that  death  was  rapidly  ap- 
proaching, barring  that  brandy.  The  same  result,  m the  same 
appalling  crisis,  I have  known  repeatedly  produced  by  twenty-five 
drops  of  laudanum.  Many  will  say,  4 Oh,  never  listen  to  a non- 
medical man  like  this  writer.  Consult  in  such  a case  your  medi- 
cal adviser.’  You  will,  will  you  ? Then  let  me  tell  you,  that  you 
are  missing  the  very  logic  of  all  I have  been  saying  for  the  improve- 
ment of  blockheads,  which  is  — that  you  should  consult  any  man 
but  a medical  man,  since  no  other  man  has  any  obstinate  prejudice 
of  professional  timidity.” — De  Quince  y.  The  bracketed  matter 
is  Masson’s. 

152  : 9.  the  legend  of  ancient  days.  The  present  editor  is  not 
familiar  with  this  legend. 

152  : 32.  Caballero.  A knight,  or  gentleman. 

T 


274 


NOTES 


153  : 13.  “written  strange  defeatures  in  her  face.”  Cf.  Shako 

speare,  Comedy  of  Errors , Act  V,  Scene  i,  lines  297-299 : — 

“ O,  grief  hath  chang’d  me  since  you  saw  me  last, 

And  careful  hours  with  time’s  deformed  hand 
Have  written  strange  defeatures  in  my  face.” 

153  : 21.  all  the  household  of  St.  Sebastian.  4 4 At  this  point 

De  Quincey  had  reached  the  close  of  the  second  part  of  the  story 
as  it  originally  appeared  in  TaWs  Edinburgh  Magazine.  As  the 
first  part  (May  1847)  had  closed  with  the  intimation  4 To  be  con- 
cluded in  the  next  Number ,’  he  thought  it  necessary  to  apologise  for 
the  non-fulfilment  of  that  promise  and  the  protraction  of  the  story 
into  a third  part.  This  he  did  in  the  following  paragraph,  inserted 
at  this  point  in  the  Magazine,  but  omitted,  of  course,  in  the  reprint ; 

— 4 Last  month,  reader,  I promised,  or  some  one  promised  for  me, 
that  I should  drive  through  to  the  end  of  the  journey  in  the  next 
stage.  But,  oh,  dear  reader  ! these  Andes,  in  Jonathan’s  phrase, 
are  a 44 severe”  range  of  hills.  It  takes  44  the  kick”  out  of  any 
horse,  or,  indeed,  out  of  any  cornet  of  horse,  to  climb  up  this  cruel 
side  of  the  range.  Best  I really  must,  whilst  Kate  is  resting.  But 
next  month  I will  carry  you  down  the  other  side  at  such  a flying  gal- 
lop, that  you  shall  suspect  me  (though  most  unjustly)  of  a plot  against 
your  neck.  Now,  let  me  throw  down  the  reins  ; and  then,  in  our 
brother  Jonathan’s  sweet  sentimental  expression,  44  let’s  liquor.”  ’ 
There  is  some  pathos  now  in  this  careless  piece  of  slang,  scribbled 
by  De  Quincey  as  a stop-gap  for  his  magazine  readers  in  1847. 
4 Best  I really  must,’  4 Let  me  throw  down  the  reins,’  4 Let’s  liquor,’ 

— in  these  phrases,  and  with  real  fun  in  the  last,  one  sees  De 
Quincey  yet,  pen  in  hand  more  than  forty  years  ago,  in  some 
fatigued  moment  in  his  Edinburgh  or  Glasgow  lodging.”  — Masson. 

154  : 3.  Creole.  44  At  that  time  the  infusion  of  negro  or  African 
blood  was  small.  Consequently,  none  of  the  negro  hideousness 
was  diffused.  After  those  intercomplexities  had  arisen  between  ah 


NOTES 


275 


complications  and  interweavings  of  descent  from  three  original 
strands  — European,  American,  African  — the  distinctions  of  social 
consideration  founded  on  them  bred  names  so  many,  that  a court 
calendar  was  necessary  to  keep  you  from  blundering.  As  yet  (i.e., 
in  Kate’s  time),  the  varieties  were  few.  Meantime,  the  word 
Creole  has  always  been  misapplied  in  our  English  colonies  to  a per- 
son (though  of  strictly  European  blood),  simply  if  born  in  the 
West  Indies.  In  this  English  use,  the  word  Creole  expresses  ex- 
actly the  same  difference  as  the  Homans  indicated  by  Ilispanus 
and  Hispanicus.  The  first  meant  a person  of  Spanish  blood,  a 
native  of  Spain  ; the  second,  a Roman  born  in  Spain.  So  of  Ger- 
manus  and  Germanicus , Itcilus  and  Italians , Anglus  and  Anglicus , 
etc.  ; an  important  distinction,  on  which  see  Isaac  Casaubon  apud 
Scriptores  Hist.  Augustan .”  — De  Quince y. 

154  : 21.  materials  extant.  In  reality,  Catalina  says  little  about 
the  appearance  of  this  girl,  whose  name  she  does  not  even  mention. 
Yalon’s  description,  however,  is  as  follows  ( Bevue  des  Deux 
Mondes , page  611)  : u Born  of  a Spanish  father  and  an  American 
mother,  she  united  with  the  piquant  physiognomy  of  the  Andalu- 
sian that  supple  figure,  that  velvet-like  eye,  that  voluptuous  lan- 
guor, which  are  the  distinguishing  charms  of  Peruvian  women. 
About  her  neck  — a dull  white,  even  a little  dusky  — hung  loosely 
a necklace  of  coral,  while  long  ear-rings  gave  to  her  face  a peculiar 
air  of  strangeness,  and  almost  of  savagery.” 

154  : 22.  two  hundred  and  twenty-eight  years.  In  the  July  num- 
ber of  Tait  (1847)  this  reads  “two  hundred  and  twenty  years.” 
Catalina,  it  should  be  noted,  began  to  write  her  memoirs  in  1624. 

154  : 26.  Grenada.  The  old  province  of  Grenada  is  perhaps  the 
most  celebrated  section  of  Spain.  In  the  time  of  the  Romans  it 
was  a part  of  the  province  of  Bsetica  and  served  as  a battle-ground 
for  the  Visigoths  and  the  Vandals.  After  the  Arab  invasion  of  the 
eighth  century  it  became  a Moorish  kingdom  and  so  remained  until 
its  complete  conquest  by  the  Spaniards  in  1492. 


276 


NOTES 


154  : 29.  blood  of  Arabs.  More  accurately  speaking,  Semiti® 
blood. 

154  : 30.  through  Jews.  “It  is  well  known,  that  the  very  rea- 
son why  the  Spanish  beyond  all  nations  became  so  gloomily  jealous 
of  a Jewish  cross  in  the  pedigree,  was  because,  until  the  vigilance 
of  the  church  rose  into  ferocity,  in  no  nation  was  such  a cross  so 
common.  The  hatred  of  fear  is  ever  the  deepest.  And  men  hated 
the  Jewish  taint,  as  once  in  Jerusalem  they  hated  the  leprosy,  be- 
cause, even  whilst  they  raved  against  it,  the  secret  proofs  of  it 
might  be  detected  amongst  their  own  kindred  ; even  as  in  the 
Temple,  whilst  once  a Hebrew  king  rose  in  mutiny  against  the 
priesthood  (2  Chronicles  xxvi.  16-20),  suddenly  the  leprosy  that 
dethroned  him,  blazed  out  upon  his  forehead.”  — He  Quincey. 

It  was  just  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  by  Titus  that  the 
Jews  flocked  to  Spain  in  great  numbers.  Under  the  early  Gothic 
kings  they  lived  in  peace  and  prosperity,  but  in  the  Middle  Ages 
were  terribly  persecuted  by  the  church.  Yet  it  was  these  same 
persecuted  Jews  who,  together  with  the  Moors,  kept  alive,  during 
the  long  centuries  of  mediaeval  darkness,  a love  of  learning,  litera- 
ture, and  refinement. 

155  : 6.  Miranda  . . . Ferdinand.  Characters  in  Shakespeare’s 
Tempest.  The  “ astonishment  ” of  Miranda  is  described  in  Act  I, 
Scene  ii,  lines  409  ff. 

155  : 16.  Catalina  . . . has  left  it  evident  in  her  memoirs,  etc. 
So  lie  Quincey  inferred  from  reading  Valon’s  article  in  the  Bevue 
des  Deux  Mondes.  As  a matter  of  fact,  she  has  done  no  such 
thing. 

155  : 26.  that  wooed  the  heavenly  Desdemona.  In  Othello , Act 
I,  Scene  iii,  lines  128  ff.,  the  Moor  tells  how  Desdemona  was 
wooed  and  won. 

155  : 33.  Peruvians.  The  province  of  Tucuman  (see  note  on 
line  25,  page  156)  was  at  that  time  a dependency  of  Peru. 

156  : 13.  waltzing  was  premature,  etc.  The  waltz,  the  national 


NOTES 


277 


dance  of  Germany,  dates  its  general  popularity  in  other  countries 
from  the  early  years  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

156  : 25.  Go  to  Tucuman.  This  town  is  situated  in  the  northern 
part  of  what  was  then  known  as  the  province  of  Tucuman,  some 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  east  of  the  Andes,  which  here  formed 
the  boundary  line  between  Chili  and  Tucuman.  If  Catalina  crossed 
the  Andes  at  a point  from  which  Tucuman  was  the  nearest  city, 
she  must  have  started  from  northern  Chili. 

3:57  : 2.  “ gammon.”  Hoaxing  ; jesting.  Perhaps  the  fact  that 
copper  and  tin  produce  a variety  of  brass,  and  that  “brass”  is 
necessary  to  the  successful  use  of  “gammon,”  will  explain  De 
Quincey’s  reference  to  mines  in  this  connection. 

157  : 4.  “ Tin.”  Here  used  with  its  familiar  slang  meaning  of 

“ monev.” 

*/ 

157  : 25.  One  reporter  of  Mr.  De  Ferrer’s  narrative.  See  the 

Historical  Note  on  Catalina  de  Erauso , pages  lxiv-lxv  ; also  the 
note  on  line  11,  page  114. 

157  : 28.  when  he  says  that  the  senora’s  gift,  etc.  Valon’s  re- 
marks, of  which  De  Quincey  here  states  the  substance,  may  be 
found  on  page  613  of  his  article  in  the  j Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 

157  : 33.  a Spartan  amongst  Helots.  Of  the  four  classes  into 
which  the  population  of  ancient  Sparta  was  divided,  the  lowest  was 
that  of  the  helots,  who  were  serfs  or  slaves. 

158  : 9.  twelve  Portuguese.  Probably  from  Brazil,  which  was 
first  colonized  by  the  Portuguese. 

158  : 12.  the  Spanish  proverb,  etc.  Christy,  Proverbs , Maxims 
and  Phrases  (Vol.  II,  page  296)  words  the  proverb  thus,  “ Strip  a 
Spaniard  of  every  virtue  and  you  have  a Portuguese.” 

160  : 31.  after  the  fact.  After  the  commission  of  the  crime. 

161  : 1.  buzwigs.  This  word,  of  De  Quincey’s  own  coinage,  is 
a combination  of  the  slang  term  bigwig , — meaning  a person  of 
consequence,  more  especially  a judge,  — and  Buzfuz , the  name  of 
the  pompous  sergeant  in  Dickens’s  Pickwick  Papers. 


NOTES 


161  : 15.  the  Pythias  of  this  . . . Damon.  Damon  and  Pythias 

were  two  Syracusan  youths  whose  friendship  has  become  pro- 
verbial. When  Damon  was  condemned  to  death  by  Dionysius  the 
Tyrant,  Pythias,  in  order  that  the  condemned  man  might  have  an 
opportunity  of  visiting  his  home,  became  his  surety.  Damon  failed 
to  return  on  time,  so  Pythias  was  led  forth  to  execution.  But  just 
as  Pythias  was  about  to  meet  his  death,  Damon  appeared,  and 
Dionysius  was  so  struck  by  this  proof  of  the  strong  friendship 
between  the  two  that  he  released  them  both. 

161  : 29.  like  the  bricks  in  Jack  Cade’s  chimney.  The  chim- 
ney here  referred  to  may  be  that  of  the  old  White  Heart  Inn,  at 
Southwark,  where  Cade  is  supposed  to  have  had  his  headquarters 
during  the  rebellion  (1450).  For  some  account  of  this  rebellion, 
read  Shakespeare’s  Henry  VI,  Part  Second. 

162  : 7.  who  had  so  often  inflicted  death,  etc.  See  note  on 
line  12,  page  133. 

162  : 31.  the  tender  attentions  of  the  Inquisition.  See  note  on 
line  30,  page  105. 

164  : 6.  “ship-shape.”  A pun  on  the  word  ship.  In  general, 
the  expression  ship-shape  refers  to  the  methodical  arrangement  of 
things  on  board  ship. 

164  : 10.  the  scene.  This,  of  course,  is  the  scene  referred  to  on 
page  106,  lines  6-18.  * 

164  : 14.  the  President.  Don  Martin  de  Mendiola,  president,  or 
XDresiding  judge,  of  the  royal  audiencia  held  at  La  Plata. 

164  : 14.  La  Plata.  This  town,  now  known  as  Chuquisaca  or 
Sucre,  and  at  present  the  capital  of  Bolivia,  is  about  six  hundred 
miles  directly  north  of  Tucuman.  The  modern  Bolivia  was  known 
in  Catalina’s  day  as  Upper  Peru. 

164  : 27.  but  nothing  after  this,  etc.  One  has  but  to  read  the 
abstract  of  Catalina’s  Memoirs  given  in  the  Historical  Note,  pages 
lix-lxiv  to  see  how  far  De  Quincey  here  goes  astray. 

165  : 5.  Eminences,  etc.  A cardinal  is  spoken  of  as  his  Emi- 


NOTES 


279 


nence,  an  ambassador  as  his  Excellency,  a prince  as  his  High- 
ness ; Royalties  and  Holinesses  are,  of  course,  kings  and  popes. 

165  : 8.  peripetteia.  This  word,  of  Greek  origin,  usually  spelled 
peripeteia , means  literally  “a  turning  around,”  and  is  the  term 
technically  applied  to  “ that  part  of  a drama  in  which  the  plot  is 
unravelled  and  the  whole  concludes.” 

165  : 11.  a Claude  Lorraine  gleam.  “ Claude  Lorraine  ” was  the 
pseudonym  of  Claude  Gel6e  (1600-1682),  the  great  landscape 
painter,  who  excelled  especially  in  the  beauty  and  fidelity  of  his 
representations  of  sunlight  effects  at  various  hours  of  the  day. 

: 16.  Mr.  President  Mendonia.  See  note  on  line  14,  page 
164.  Again  the  name  invented  by  De  Quincy  is  more  euphonious 
than  the  correct  one. 

: 28.  seven  hundred  miles.  The  distance  between  La  Plata 
and  Concepcion  is  really  about  fourteen  hundred  miles. 

166  : 18.  Paz.  Paz,  or  La  Paz,  capital  of  the  department  of  Paz 
in  Bolivia,  lies  about  three  hundred  miles  northwest  of  Sucre,  or 
La  Plata.  Paz  is  also  the  Spanish  word  meaning  “peace.” 

166  : 26.  comme  de  raison.  As  a matter  of  course. 

167  : 2.  Alcalde  [<Arabic  al  (the)  + kadi  (judge)]  is  the  title 
of  a Spanish  magistrate  or  justice  of  the  peace. 

167  : 32.  reversionary  advantages.  Advantages  to  be  enjoyed 
at  some  future  time  ; just  as  reversionary  annuities  are  those  which 
do  not  begin  to  be  paid  until  after  a certain  number  of  years  or  the 
occurrence  of  some  future  event. 

168  : 15.  Cuzco.  Cuzco,  once  the  capital  of  the  Peruvian  Em- 
pire of  the  Incas,  and  now  the  capital  of  one  of  the  provinces  of 
Peru,  is  about  three  hundred  miles  northwest  of  La  Paz. 

169  : 1.  dwells  upon  the  theme.  “Dona  Maria  was  a perfect 
example  of  the  women  of  Seville,  concerning  whose  peculiar  type 
of  beauty,  a very  false  idea  generally  prevails.  She  was  not  small 
and  lively,  dark  and  piquant,  like  the  beauties  of  Cadiz,  nor  fair 
and  voluptuous  like  the  women  of  Valencia ; she  was  a tall  blonde, 


280 


NOTES 


of  an  admirably  slender  figure,  having  black  eyes  fringed  with  darfr 
brown  lashes.  Her  sparkling  and  altogether  tropical  glances  were 
in  strange  contrast  with  her  complexion  and  the  color  of  her  hair , 
she  was  a singular  mixture  of  German  sweetness  and  Arabian 
energy.  I do  not  speak  of  her  feet,  for  she  had  scarcely  any.  In 
a word,  the  alferez  found  her  entirely  to  his  taste”  (Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes , pages  621-622). 

169  : 12.  a Cinderella  . . . but  still  not  a Cinderellula.  De 

Quincey  reasons  that  if  a small  cinder-girl  ( Cinderella ) has  small 
feet,  a very  small  cinder-girl  ( Cinderellula  — a double  diminutive) 
would  have  very  small  feet. 

170  : 1.  no  such  practice  then  existed,  etc.  According  to  Tick- 
nor  ( History  of  Spanish  Literature , Vol.  Ill,  Part  I),  however,  em- 
bellishment was  one  of  the  characteristic  qualities  to  be  found  in 
the  Spanish  memoirs  and  histories  of  this  period,  and  the  style, 
while  sometimes  dry,  was  frequently  poetic  and  polished. 

170  : 3.  Her  memoirs,  etc.  This  opinion  concerning  the  matter 
and  manner  of  Catalina’s  Memoirs  is  based  upon  the  following  very 
just  criticism  by  Yalon  ( Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  635)  : “ Cata- 
lina’s original  memoirs  are,  it  is  my  duty  to  say,  clumsily  written. 
They  are  less  a story  than  material  for  a story ; they  are  a dry  and 
short  summary,  without  animation  and  without  life.  One  feels  that 
the  hand  which  held  the  pen  had  grown  hard  upon  the  hilt  of  a 
sword,  and  I find  in  the  very  inexperience  of  the  narrator  the  best 
guarantee  of  her  veracity.  If  they  had  been  fictitious,  these  me- 
moirs would  have  been  quite  different ; a novelist  would  have  done 
better  or  otherwise.  The  style  of  Catalina  is  rude,  coarse,  often 
obscure,  and  sometimes  characterized  by  an  untranslatable  frank- 
ness that  borders  upon  cynicism.” 

170  : 20.  taking  the  league  at  2\  miles.  The  South  American 
league  varies  in  length,  being  sometimes  as  short  as  two  and  some- 
times as  long  as  three  English  statute  miles. 

170  : 26.  a venta.  A poor  inn  on  the  roadside. 


NOTES 


281 


170  : 29.  the  public  locanda.  The  hotel  or  tavern. 

171  : 4.  taking  a “ rise.”  That  is,  having  some  fan.  This  slang 
expression  is  probably  a metaphor  derived  from  fly-fishing. 

171  : 5.  Don  Quixote.  The  Adventures  of  Don  Quixote  de  La 
Mancha  by  Miguel  de  Cervantes  (1547-1616)  first  appeared 
in  1605. 

171  : 12.  his  mustiness  . . . his  fustiness,  etc.  Cf.  the  “ Musty 
Christopher,  Fusty  Christopher”  of  Tennyson’s  To  Christopher 
North. 

1 71  : 14.  muffs.  A muff  is  a stupid  fellow,  a dolt. 

174  : 13.  eighteen  miles  distant.  As  Catalina  approaches  Cuzco, 
its  distance  from  her  point  of  departure  becomes  steadily  greater ; 
at  line  22,  page  170,  it  is  22 \ miles  distant ; at  the  present  point  it  is 
still  18  miles  away,  making  the  total  distance  23  miles  [5  (line  27, 
page  173)  + 18]  ; at  line  27  it  is  still  3 miles  off,  though  21  miles 
(line  33)  have  already  been  covered. 

174  : 20.  Kate  has  delivered  it  as  her  opinion,  etc.  So  De 
Quincey  inferred  from  Valon’s  account  of  the  flight  and  pursuit 
( Bevue  des  Deux  Mondes , pages  626-628)  ; as  a matter  of  fact,  she 
has  done  nothing  of  the  sort. 

175  : 18.  says  Kate  in  her  memoirs.  Yalon  having  followed  his 
original  in  this  connection,  De  Qumcey’s  reference  to  the  autobi- 
ography is  at  last  correct. 

175  : 19.  en  croupe*,  On  the  crupper;  riding  behind. 

175  : 25.  episcopal.  u The  roads  around  Cuzco  were  made,  and 
maintained,  under  the  patronage  and  control  of  the  bishop.” 

— De  Quincey. 

176  : 5.  pomaerium.  The  literal  meaning  of  the  Latin  word 
pomoerium  is  “the  open  space  free  from  buildings  within  and 
without  the  walls  of  a town  ” ; De  Quincey,  however,  uses  the 
term  in  its  figurative  sense  of  “bounds”  or  “limits.” 

176  : 29.  the  quickest  succession  of  changes,  etc.  The  word 
melodrama  (from  the  Greek  ^Xos,  a song,  and  dpa/ua,  a drama) 


282 


NOTES 


literally  means  a dramatic  performance  with  music  intermixed. 
In  Germany  the  term  is  used  with  this  original  meaning;  in 
France,  England,  and  the  United  States,  however,  it  denotes  a 
production  characterized  by  romantic  and  sensational  incidents, 
a play  of  the  " blood-and-thunder  ” type. 

178  : 10.  Lima.  Lima,  the  capital  of  Peru,  is  situated  on  the 
Pacific  coast,  about  three  hundred  miles  northwest  of  Cuzco, 
and  about  six  hundred  miles  south  of  Paita.  At  Lima,  there- 
fore, Catalina  was  nearer  her  original  starting-point  than  she  had. 
yet  been  in  the  course  of  her  South  American  wanderings. 

178  : 13.  Philip  IV  (1605-1665)  ascended  the  Spanish  throne 
In  1621. 

178  : 13.  the  papal  legate.  The  ambassador  representing  the 
Pope  at  the  Spanish  court.  Since  Kate  was  a nun,  his  order  was 
a necessary  supplement  of  the  king’s. 

178  : 18.  which  now  for  seventeen  years,  etc.  According  to  De 
Quincey’s  chronology  — in  which  he  follows  Valon,  of  course  — 
Kate  reached  South  America  in  1608  (note  on  line  27,  page  121) 
and  departed  in  1624  (line  4,  page  179).  Catalina  herself  says  that 
her  American  experiences  began  in  1603,  but  gives  1624  as  the  date 
of  her  departure.  At  this  time  she  was  thirty-three  years  old 
according  to  the  one  account ; forty,  according  to  the  other. 

178  : 24.  The  Pope.  Urban  VIII  was  pope  from  1623  to  1644. 

178  : 29.  the  scorn  of  . . . St.  Peter’s  keys.  According  to 
Roman  Catholic  belief  the  pope  is  the  successor  on  earth  of  St. 
Peter,  to  whose  charge  were  committed  the  keys  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  ; see  Matthew  xvi.  18-19. 

179  : 4.  in  the  first  week  of  November,  1624.  Valon  and  Cata- 
lina both  say  November  1,  1624. 

179  : 6.  Cadiz.  An  important  commercial  city  on  the  southern 
coast  of  Andalusia,  thirty-five  miles  southwest  of  St.  Lucar,  the  port 
from  which  Kate  sailed  on  her  outward  voyage. 

179  : 11.  Forty  myriads.  Though  generally  used  to  designate  a 


NOTES 


283 


countless  number,  the  word  myriad  (Greek  /mvpids ) literally  means 
ten  thousand,  De  Quincey,  therefore,  would  seem  to  estimate  the 
crowd  at  four  hundred  thousand. 

179  : 22.  Cond6  Olivarez.  Don  Gasparo  de  Guzman,  Count 
( Conde)  of  Olivarez  and  Duke  of  San  Lncar,  was  Prime  Minister 
under  Philip  IY  from  1621  to  1643.  During  this  time  his  control 
over  the  king  was  almost  absolute. 

179  : 26.  But  a year  ago,  etc.  “ It  was  in  February,  1622-1623, 
that  James  I of  England  despatched  his  heir-apparent,  Prince 
Charles,  afterwards  Charles  I,  to  Spain,  under  the  escort  of  the 
splendid  royal  favourite,  George  Yilliers,  Marquis  of  Buckingham, 
on  the  famous  business  of  the  Spanish  match, —ie.,  for  the  con- 
clusion of  the  long-pending  negotiations  for  a marriage  between  the 
Prince  and  the  Spanish  Infanta,  daughter  of  the  late  Philip  III  of 
Spain,  and  sister  of  Philip  IV.  The  Prince  and  Buckingham 
remained  at  the  Spanish  court  some  months,  — the  Prince  eager  for 
the  match,  but  Buckingham’s  attitude  in  the  matter  becoming  that 
of  obstruction  and  of  open  quarrel  with  the  Spanish  officials.  In 
September,  1623,  the  two  were  back  in  England,  reporting  that  they 
had  been  duped ; and,  greatly  to  the  delight  of  the  English  people, 
the  Spanish  match  business,  and  all  friendly  relations  with  Roman 
Catholic  Spain  were  at  an  end.  Buckingham  had  been  raised  to 
the  dignity  of  Duke  during  his  absence.”  — Masson. 

179:29.  “was  sweet  as  summer.”  “Griffith  in  Shakspere, 
when  vindicating,  in  that  immortal  scene  with  Queen  Catherine, 
Cardinal  Woolsey.” — De  Quxncey. 

The  scene  referred  to  is  the  second  of  Act  IY  in  Henry  Will* 
Here  we  read  (lines  51-54)  : — 

5(1  He  was  a scholar  and  a ripe  and  good  one ; 

Exceeding  wise,  fair-spoken,  and  persuading: 

Lofty  and  sour  to  them  that  loved  him  not ; 

But  to  those  men  that  sought  him  sweet  as  summer.” 


284 


NOTES 


180 : 2.  he  settled  a pension  upon  her,  etc.  This  was  a life 

annuity  of  eight  hundred  crowns  ; the  order  for  it,  signed  in  August, 
1025,  was  found  by  M.  Ferrer  in  the  archives  of  Seville. 

180  : 3.  a ^ear  of  jubilee.  The  first  jubilee  was  decreed  by 
Pope  Boniface  VIII,  who  issued  for  the  year  1300  a bull  granting 
a plenary  indulgence  to  all  pilgrim  visitors  to  Rome  during  that 
year,  provided  they  confessed  their  sins  and  visited  the  church  of 
St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  a certain  number  of  times.  It  was  then 
intended  that  such  a jubilee  should  be  held  every  hundredth  year, 
but  Clement  VI  abridged  the  intervening  time  to  fifty  years,  and 
in  1470,  Paul  II  ordered  that  thenceforth  jubilees  should  be  sepa- 
rated by  only  twenty-five  years.  He  further  modified  the  condi- 
tions of  the  indulgence  in  various  ways.  The  jubilee  of  1625  was 
the  seventh  under  this  new  system. 

180  : 4.  Madrid.  Since  1560  the  court  of  the  Spanish  kings  has 
been  held  at  Madrid. 

180:  5.  Barcelona.  Barcelona,  in  the  province  of  the  same 
name,  is  a port  on  the  northeast  coast  of  Spain,  some  three  hun- 
dred miles  from  Madrid. 

180 : 6.  the  lady  whom  the  king  delighted  to  honour.  Cf.  44  the 
man  whom  the  king  delighteth  to  honour.”  — Esther  vi.  6. 

180  : 27.  the  press  and  the  compositors,  etc.  See  note  on  line 
28,  page  72. 

180  : 30.  in  partibus  Infidelium.  An  ecclesiastical  phrase,  mean- 
ing “ in  the  regions  of  unbelievers.” 

180  : 32.  the  Horse  Guards.  The  regiment  : zi  cavalry  serving  as 
guards  to  a sovereign  on  state  occasions. 

181  : 10.  From  Rome,  Kate  returned  to  Spain,  etc.  Practically 
nothing  is  known  of  her  life  between  July,  1626,  and  July,  1630, 
though  official  documents  show  that  on  July  12,  1628,  and  again  on 
April  28,  1830,  the  king  granted  her  a free  passage  to  America. 
The  visit  to  St.  Sebastian  here  mentioned  may  or  may  not  have 
oeen  made. 


NOTES 


285 


182  : 3.  After  ten  years.  De  Quincey  here  follows  Yalon,  who 
says  (JBevue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  623)  that  Catalina  sailed  from 
Corunna  for  America  in  1635.  In  reality  she  set  sail  from  St. 
Lucar  on  July  25,  1630. 

182  : 10.  tertia.  A Spanish  regiment  of  the  early  seventeenth 
century  was  called  a tercia. 

182  : 14.  I really  forget.  Since  Yalon  does  not  say  whither 
Kate’s  ship  was  finally  bound,  this  forgetfulness  on  De  Quincey' j 
part  was  quite  natural. 

182  : 15.  Vera  Cruz.  As  Professor  Masson  suggests,  De  Quincey 
was  probably  being  hurried  by  the  printers,  or  he  would  have 
explained  that  Yera  Cruz  is  not  on  the  Pacific  coast  of  South 
America  — with  which  Kate  was  familiar  — but  on  the  Atlantic 
coast  of  Spanish  North  America.  It  is  the  chief  port  of  Mexico, 
situated  on  the  Gulf,  about  two  hundred  miles  from  the  City  of 
Mexico. 

183  : 1.  But  the  sea  did  not  give  up  its  dead.  Cf.  “ And  the  sea 

gave  up  the  dead  which  were  in  it.”  — Bevelation  xx.  13. 

183:10.  Her  brother  soldiers  . . . could  never  arrive,  etc.  Cf. 
Yalon,  Bevue  des  Deux  Mondes , pages  632-633 : u It  is  needless  to 
say  that  this  mysterious  disappearance  gave  rise  to  the  most  contra- 
dictory conjectures.  Had  Catalina,  enamoured  of  a wandering  life, 
fled  again  to  the  desert  ? and  if  so,  why  had  they  found  no  traces 
of  her  ? Or  rather,  while  disembarking  in  the  obscurity  of  this 
stormy  night,  had  she  been  drowned  without  anyone  perceiving  it  ? 
The  latter  theory  seems  the  more  reasonable,  yet  they  were  unable 
to  find  her  body  in  the  bay.  Doubtless  a shark  had  devoured 
Catalina  ; many  better  people  have  had  no  other  sepulture.”  For 
her  real  fate,  see  the  Historical  Note,  page  lxiv. 

283  : 11.  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  years  ago.  These  figures 
fit  the  edition  of  1854  no  better  than  “ two  hundred  and  fourteen” 
fit  the  magazine  article  of  1847. 

183  : 13.  she  found  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot.  Cf.  64  But 


286 


NOTES 


the  dove  found  no  rest  for  Hie  sole  of  her  foot.”  — Genesis 
viii.  9. 

184  : Title,  Author’s  Postscript  in  1854.  This  postscript  took  the 
place  of  a brief  introductory  paragraph  vouching  for  the  authen- 
ticity of  the  story,  which  was  prefixed  to  the  first  instalment  in 
Tait  for  May,  1847. 

284:  11.  the  admirable  novels  of  Defoe.  Defoe’s  (1361-1731) 
best-known  novels  are  Bobinson  Crusoe , Captain  Singleton,  Moll 
Flanders , and  Colonel  Jack.  His  Journal  of  the  Plague  is  espe- 
cially remarkable  for  its  verisimilitude. 

184 : 12.  the  inimitable  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  This  English 
classic,  by  Oliver  Goldsmith  (1728-1774),  was  published  in  1766, 
and  has  perhaps  been  more  widely  read  than  any  other  English  novel. 

184  : 16.  a ’statesman.  In  provincial  English  usage,  a ’states- 
man ( estates-man ) is  one  who  occupies  his  own  estate  ; a small 
landholder. 

185  : 25.  sifted  and  authenticated.  See  Historical  Note  on  Cata- 
lina de  Erauso,  page  lviii. 

186  : 5.  the  incidents  . . . repulsive.  In  continuance  of  the 
criticism  already  quoted  (note  on  line  3,  page  170)  Valon  says  ( Be - 
vue  des  Deux  Mondes , page  635)  : u This  story,  on  the  whole,  though 
Spanish,  is  far  from  being  orthodox.  It  would  not  surprise  me  if  a 
scrupulous  reader  would  even  condemn  it  from  a moral  point  of 
view  ; many  rascals  have  been  hung  who  were  worth  infinitely  more, 
I believe,  than  the  Nun-Lieutenant.  Her  faults,  however,  grave  as 
they  may  have  been,  do  not  inspire  us  with  disgust.  Hers  is  a sav- 
age, self-abandoned  nature,  having  a conscience  neither  for  good 
nor  for  evil.  Raised  until  she  was  fifteen  by  ignorant  nuns,  aban- 
doned from  that  time  to  all  the  hazards  of  a wandering  life,  to  all 
the  instincts  of  a coarse  nature,  Catalina  knew  no  morality  other 
than  that  of  the  highways,  camps,  and  ships.  She  evidently  did 
not  realize  what  she  was  doing ; she  herself  tells,  without  malice, 
without  bragging,  without  even  thinking  of  excusing  herself,  stories 


NOTES 


287 


of  deeds  such  as  in  these  days  would  bring  her  before  the  court 
of  assizes.  She  robs  with  candor,  this  worthy  woman,  and  she 
kills  with  naivete.” 

1 86  : 18.  a period  . . . confessedly  suppressed,  etc.  The  sup- 
pression to  which  De  Quincey  refers  (see  page  132)  is  to  be  found  in 
Valon’s  story,  but  not  in  the  Memoirs. 

1 86  : 31.  a river-system  so  awful.  That  of  the  Amazon. 

187  : 4.  “ qui  musas,”  etc.  u Who  cultivate  the  more  sober 
muses.”  This  line  is  quoted  from  Martial  (a.d.  40-cir.  104),  the 
great  Latin  epigrammatist  ( Epigrammatum , Book  IX,  xii.  IT). 

187  : 9.  the  publication  of  Kate’s  Memoirs.  See  Historical 
Note,  pages  lvii-lviii. 

187  : 12.  a regular  controversy  arose.  De  Quincey  seems  to 
have  invented  this  controversy. 

187  : 17.  Whether  these  . . . were  entitled,  etc.  De  Quincey 
here  parodies  some  of  his  own  titles  : “ Autobiographic  Sketches,” 
“ Confessions  of  an  English  Opium-Eater,”  and  “ Selections,  Grave 
and  Gay,  from  the  Writings,  published  and  unpublished,  of 
Thomas  de  Quincey.” 

187  : 20.  miscreant.  This  word,  from  the  Latin  minus  credere , 
to  believe  amiss,  first  meant  simply  11  misbelieving.”  See  Trench, 
On  the  Study  of  Words,  Lecture  IY. 

187  : 23.  Senor  De  Ferrer.  See  Historical  Note,  pages  lvii-lviii. 

187  : 32.  the  two  French  invasions  of  Spain,  etc.  Napoleon 
invaded  Spain  in  1808,  in  order  to  put  down  the  Spanish  insurrec- 
tion against  his  brother  Joseph,  whom  he  had  placed  upon  the 
throne;  the  Due  d’Angouleme  (1775-1844),  eldest  son  of 
Charles  X,  led  the  forces  of  his  uncle,  Louis  XVIII,  into  Spain 
in  1823  in  order  to  aid  King  Ferdinand  YII  in  reestablishing  a 
despotism. 

188  : 3.  the  Papal  Chancery.  The  apostolic  court  at  Rome,  in 
which  bulls,  briefs,  and  temporal  documents  from  the  pope  are 
authenticated. 


288 


NOTES 


1 88  : 15.  all  these  capital  heads  . . . have  been  established,  etc 

Except  for  the  “scenes  at  Tucuman  and  Cuzco,”  these  “capital 
heads”  are  the  same  in  Valon’s  article  and  Catalina’s  memoirs, 
though  the  minor  details  connected  with  them  differ  greatly. 

1 88  : 18.  was  reported  at  length,  etc.  Perhaps  De  Quincey 
knew  this  to  be  true  ; perhaps  not. 

1 88  : 19.  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes.  A well-known  French 
semi-monthly  magazine,  published  at  Paris.  It  was  started  in 
1829  by  MM.  Sigur-Dupeyron  and  Mauray. 

1 88  : 25.  Frankly,  I acknowledge  that,  etc.  “This,”  says  Pro- 
fessor Masson,  “is  De  Quincey ’s  way  of  saying  that,  to  as  late  as 
1854,  he  ad  never  had  an  opportunity  of  examining  the  original 
of  Kate’s  memoirs  in  M0  de  Ferrer’s  book,  and  had  therefore 
reprinted  his  story  of  her  adventures  much  as  it  stood  in  his  Maga- 
zine papers  of  1847.” 

189  : 2.  The  ratification  . . . is  . . . absolute  and  without  re- 
serve. See  Historical  Note,  page  Iviii,  to  judge  of  the  truth  of  this 
assertion. 


189  : 9.  a portrait  of  Kate.  The  following  pen-portrait  of  Cata- 
lina is  to  be  found  in  the  Seventeenth  Letter  of  Pietro  della  Yalle 
(1586-1652),  an  Italian  traveller,  to  his  friend  Mario  Schipano ; it 
is  dated  at  Rome,  July  11,  1626 : “ She  is  a woman  about  35 
or  40  years  old.  . . . She  is  of  large  size,  rather  masculine  in 
appearance,  and  has  no  bust  to  speak  of.  . . . Her  face  is  by  no 
means  ugly,  but  already  begins  to  show  signs  of  age  and  weariness. 
She  wears  her  black  hair  short  like  a man’s,  and  dressed  after  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  She  is  clothed  like  a Spanish  gentleman, 
carries  her  sword  well,  and  walks  with  her  head  slightly  lowered 
between  her  high  shoulders.  In  short,  she  looks  much  more  like 
a soldier  than  a court  beauty.  Her  hands  alone  suggest  her  sex, 
for  they  are  plump  and  fleshy,  though  large  and  strong,  and 
have  something  feminine  about  their  movements”  ( Viaggi  di 
Pietro  della  Valle , Lettera  XVII). 


NOTES 


289 


189  : 12.  Herr  Sempeller.  This  is  De  Quincey’s  name  for  a 
certain  Colonel  Berthold  Shepeler,  with  whom  M.  Ferrer  became 
acquainted  at  Aix-la-Chapelle. 

189  : 15.  The  name  of  the  artist,  etc.  The  portrait  was  painted 
by  Pacheco,  and  was  given  by  Colonel  Shepeler  to  M.  Ferrer,  who 
at  once  had  it  engraved  as  the  frontispiece  for  his  edition  of  the 
Memoirs.  What  has  since  become  of  it,  no  one  seems  to  know. 

189  : 27.  a King  — the  greatest  then  reigning.  It  should  be 
remembered,  however,  that  under  Philip  III  and  Philip  IV  Spain 
suffered  a rapid  decline  in  power  and  importance. 

189  : 33.  our  James  I.  King  of  England  and  Scotland  from 
1603  to  1625. 

190  : 8.  Velasquez  599-1 660).  Perhaps  the  greatest  of  Spanish 
painters,  especially  noted  for  his  portraits. 

190  : 9.  Charles  I,  son  of  James  I,  was  king  of  England  from 
1625  until  he  was  beheaded  in  1649. 

190  : 12.  from  Genoa  and  Florence.  Kate  would  naturally  pass 
through  these  two  Italian  cities  on  her  jubilee  journey  to  Rome. 


' 

■ 


. 


. V f- 

■ 


" _ 


INDEX 


aceldama,  240. 

Act,  223. 

a discretion,  267. 
admiralty,  203,  261* 
affronts,  242. 
a fortiori , 230. 
after  the  fact,  277. 
Agincourt,  198. 

Agra,  232. 
ague,  256. 

Alcalde,  279. 

Alferez,  265. 

Alguazils,  257. 

A1  Sirat,  243. 

Amazon,  287. 

American  St.  Peter,  271. 
ampulla,  206. 

Andalusian,  259. 

Angelus,  270. 
a parte  ante,  207. 
apocalyptic  vials,  221. 
apodeictically,  259. 

Apollo,  244. 

“appalled  the  doctors,’ ’ 206. 
a priori,  217,  255, 

Arabs,  276. 

Arc,  191. 

Ariosto,  253. 

Aristotle,  226. 
arrears,  269. 
asbestos,  194. 
assessor,  243. 
assizes,  244. 


atmosphere,  245. 
attaint,  224. 
attelage,  237. 
attics,  225, 
audacity,  236. 
aurigation,  244. 

Aurora,  244. 

Author's  Postscript,  250. 
Author's  Postscript  in  1854 , 286. 

back  of  beyond,  256. 

Badajoz,  237. 

Bar,  197. 

Barcelona,  284. 

Barnet,  238. 

Basque,  269. 

Beauvais,  Bishop  of,  209. 
benefit  of  clergy,  229. 

Bengal  lights,  239, 

Bergereta , 202. 
fiiad&varo s,  241. 
billet,  267. 

Birmingham,  230. 
birthday,  245. 

Biscay,  252. 

Biscayan,  263. 

Biscayan  mountains,  253, 

“blue  rejoicing  sky,”  253. 
blue  serene,  269. 

Bobo,  Mrs.,  261. 
booked,  228. 

Bridgewater  Arms,  242. 

British  Museum,  227. 


292  INDEX 


Brummagem,  230. 

Bunsby,  Captain,  271. 

Buzwigs,  277. 

ga  ir a,  226. 
caballador,  263. 
caballero,  273. 

Cade’s  chimney,  278. 

Cadiz,  282. 

Caesar,  241,  264. 

Cain,  267. 

Calcraft,  255. 

Calendars,  243. 

Campo  Santo,  249. 
caput  mortuum , 262. 

Cardenas,  258. 

Carlo vingian,  201. 
carried  on,  264. 

Castilian,  251. 

cat  might  look  at  king,  230. 

“ Catalinam  vehis,”  etc.,  264. 
Catholic  Majesty,  260. 
cat’s  paw,  209. 
cent  per  cent,  267. 
chambers,  198. 

Champagne,  197. 

Champenoise,  197. 

“ Chant  the  deliverer’s  praise,” 
etc.,  249. 

charge,  memorable,  240. 
Charlemagne,  201. 

Charles  I,  289. 

Charles  II,  224. 

Charles  VI,  198. 
charwomen,  238. 
chateaux  en  Espagne , 253. 

“ Chevalier ,”  etc.,  204. 

China,  225,  226. 

Chinon,  205. 

Church,  200. 


Cicero,  226. 

Cinderella,  280. 
cis , 197. 

city  of  refuge,  270. 

Claude  Lorraine,  279. 

Coleridge’s  Ancient  Mariner , 267 
comme  cle  raison , 279. 
commis,  263. 

Compiegne,  208. 

Concepcion,  265. 
confluent,  244. 
conjecture,  285. 
consummation,  241. 
copy  of  verses,  204. 

Cottle,  207. 
coup-de-main , 208. 
coup  d'essai , 205. 

Courier , 238. 

Corday,  Charlotte,  212. 
Cordilleras,  266. 

Cordova,  259. 
coronation  robes,  219. 
corregidor,  263. 
corsair,  270. 

Cortez,  251. 
corymbi , 248. 

Crecy,  198,  249. 

Creole,  274. 

crocodile,  233,  235,  252. 
crown,  triple,  209. 

Crusades,  199. 

Cuesta,  239. 
curse  of  labour,  245. 
cut  and  run,  256. 

Cuzco,  279. 

Cyclops,  243. 

Damon,  278. 

daughter  of  Caesars,  211. 
dauphin,  200. 


INDEX 


293 


dawnlight,  247. 

De  Coverley,  Sir  Roger,  202. 

De  Ferrer,  287. 

Defoe,  286. 

Delenda  est  Anglia  Victrix, 
195. 

delf-ware,  224. 
delirium  tremens , 194. 

Desdemona,  276. 
determine,  253. 

Diet,  201. 
diphrelatic,  243. 
diseases,  199. 
distances,  221. 
domestic  reunion,  265. 

Dominican,  210. 

Domremy,  192. 

Don  Quixote , 281. 

Dons,  251. 

Dorado,  267. 
down,  236,  242. 

Dream-Fugue , 247. 
dreamlight,  247. 
ducats,  261. 

Dyrrhachium,  264. 

Easter,  223. 
eccentric,  220. 
echoes,  false,  229. 

Edward  Longshanks,  232. 
Egyptian  society,  235. 

Eminences,  278. 
en  contumace , 192. 
en  croupe , 281. 

English  Mail-Coach , 219. 
epic  unity,  207. 
episcopal,  281. 
episode,  207. 
ergo,  217,  255. 

Etonian,  265. 


famines,  199,  269. 
fawn,  202. 
fee-simple,  252. 

Ferdinand,  276. 
feudalism,  200. 
fey,  239. 
final  cause,  235. 
fleur-de-lys,  193,  198. 
flood,  251. 

Florence,  289. 
flotsam,  261. 

France  Delivered,  207. 

French  Revolution,  193,  226. 
Friday,  203. 
fustiness,  281. 

Galileo,  221. 
gammon,  277. 
garrets,  225. 
gazette,  238. 

Genoa,  289. 

George  III,  225. 

Germany,  197,  198. 

Glasgow,  242. 

Gloucester,  224. 

Gothic  aisle,  246. 

Grafton,  212. 

Grenada,  275. 

hammer-cloth,  226. 

Hannibal,  195. 

Haumette,  202,  207. 
heads  or  tails,  261. 
heady, 248. 
heart-shaking,  221. 

Hebrew  shepherd  boy,  192. 
Helots,  277. 

Henry  VI,  206. 

herald  of  wrath  relenting,  270. 
heroes,  nautical,  196. 


294 


INDEX 


hidalgo,  251. 

Highflyer,  230. 

Himalayas,  211. 

Hindoos,  201. 
hoc  age , 254. 

“holding  children,”  etc.,  268. 
Holinshead,  212. 

Holyhead,  224. 
horns  of  altar,  250. 
horny-hoofed,  203. 

Horse  Guards,  284. 
house  of  life,  227. 
households,  235. 

Hyder  Ali,  195. 

Iliad , 246. 
impeachment,  257. 
imperials,  258. 
in  partibus  Infidelium}  284. 
inalienable  privilege,  256. 
Inquisition,  255,  278. 
inspiration  of  God,  240. 
insurrections,  199. 
interdicts,  199. 
invasions  of  Spain,  287. 

Ionic,  248. 

Jack,  255. 

Jack  Ketch,  255. 
jacobinical,  230. 

“Jam  proximus,”  etc.,  228. 
James  I,  289. 
jealous,  263. 

Jean,  196. 
jetsam,  261. 

Jews,  276. 

John  Bull,  212. 
jubilee,  284. 

Judah,  192. 
jump,  225. 


jury-reins,  226. 
jus  domini,  242. 
jus  gentium , 242. 
juste  milieu , 262. 

Juvenal’s  qualification,  258. 

Kendal,  244.  . 
kicked,  242. 

La  Plata,  278. 
lassa  majestas,  228. 

Lahore,  232. 

Lancaster,  243,  245. 
laudanum,  243. 
league,  280. 
left  till  called  for,  193. 

Lent,  223. 

lilies  of  France,  193. 

Lima,  282. 

“ Live  a thousand  years,”  263. 
live  and  let  live,  201. 

Lloyd’s,  260. 
locanda,  281. 
locus,  197. 

Lombard  Street,  237. 
lords  of  bedchamber,  259. 
Lorraine,  191. 

“ Love  amongst  the  Roses,”  245. 
lure,  194. 

Luxor,  211,  230. 

“ Mafille,”  etc.,  204. 

Macartney,  225. 

mad  as  March  hares,  193. 

Madrid,  284. 

magna  loquimur , 232. 

magna  vivimus , 232. 

Manchester,  242. 

mandatory,  258. 

Marie  Antoinette,  211r 


INDEX 


295 


Marlborough  forest,  232. 
marquis,  202. 
martyrology,  200. 
mate,  260. 
melodrama,  281. 

Mendonia,  279. 
metal,  217. 

metaphysics,  Mahometan,  210. 
Michael  Angelo,  211.  . 

Michaelmas,  223. 

Michelet,  193,  204,  208,  213. 
Michelet’s  Histoire  de  France,  193. 
middle  watch,  244. 

Milton,  211. 

Miranda,  276. 
miscreant,  287. 

Miserere,  200. 

Mithridates,  195. 

“ mon  cher,”  269. 

“ Monstrum  horrendum”  etc.,  243. 

Mozart,  211. 

muffs,  281. 

mustiness,  281. 

myriads,  282. 

Napoleon,  195. 

“ Nature  from  her  seat,”  etc.,  242. 
Nemesis,  268. 

Nicopolis,  198. 

Nile,  232. 

“Nine  fathom  deep,”  etc.,  269. 
noblesse , 251. 

“ Nolebat,”  etc.,  208. 
noters,  227. 

odds,  258. 

Olivarez,  283. 
omrahs,  231. 

“ On  the  throne,”  etc.,  205. 
onus,  217. 


orchestra,  221. 

Oriflamme,  204. 

Orleans,  206. 

Oswestry,  230. 

Oxford,  219,  222,  223. 

pacha,  263. 

Palmer,  219. 

Pantheon,  244. 

Papal  Chancery,  287. 
papal  legate,  282. 

Paradise  Lost,  247. 

Paradise  Regained,  207. 
pariah,  224. 

parliamentary  rat,  228. 

“ pass  like  night,”  etc.,  268. 
passion,  207. 

Patay,  208. 

Paz,  279. 

pearls,  Roman,  232. 

Pekin,  225. 

Peninsula,  239. 
pension,  284. 

Percy,  194. 
peripetteia,  279. 

“ Perish  the  roses,”  etc.,  234. 
Peruvians,  276. 

Pharoahs,  235. 

Phidias,  211. 

Philip  III,  257. 

Philip  IV,  282,  289. 
philo-garlic,  259. 
pistoles,  261. 

Pizarro,  251. 
poached,  229. 

Poictiers,  198. 
pomserium,  281. 
pope,  200,  254,  282. 
portrait  of  Kate,  288. 
Portuguese,  277. 


296 


INDEX 


posse,  227. 
posting-houses,  224. 
Post-office,  237. 
potatoes,  259. 
pot-wallopings,  232. 
praedial,  203. 
prelibation,  237. 
prescribed,  266. 
pricking  for  sheriffs,  205. 
procrastinating,  243-284. 
proverb,  Spanish,  277. 
Pucelle  d’ Orleans,  194,  204. 
Puren,  265. 

Pythias,  278. 

quarrel,  248. 

Quarter  Sessions,  229. 
quartered  heraldically,  236. 
quarterings,  229,  246. 

“ qui  musas,”  etc.,  287. 
Quicherat’s  Proces , 195. 

raff,  224. 

Regent  of  France,  218. 
reversionary,  279. 
revolved,  224,  269. 

Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  288. 
Rheims,  206,  208. 
right  of  asylum,  266. 
rise,  281. 

Rouen,  192. 
royal  livery,  233. 
rushlight,  255. 

Sabbatic,  245. 

St.  Andrew’s  Cross,  197. 

St.  Bernard’s  hospice,  270. 

St.  Louis,  204. 

St.  Lucar,  260. 

St.  Martin’s-le-Grand,  237. 


St.  Peter’s,  211. 

St.  Peter’s  keys,  282. 

St.  Sebastian,  251. 

Salamanca,  222. 
salle-a-manger , 224. 
sanctus , 250. 

“ Say,  all  our  praises,”  etc.,  233. 
scenical,  232. 
scissors,  255. 
scrutoire,  254. 

semi-legendary  animals,  236. 
Sempeller,  289. 
s’ennuyer,  257. 

Seville,  259. 
shilly-shally,  256. 
ship-shape,  278. 

Shrewsbury,  230. 
sigh-born,  245. 
signs,  averted,  248. 

Simond,  203. 
sketched,  256. 
snobs,  224. 

“ Sound  the  trumpets,”  etc.,  263 
Southey’s  Joan  of  Arc,  205. 
Spain  and  the  Indies,  266. 
Spanish  Military  Nun , 250. 
Spartan,  277. 

Spenser,  253. 
stag,  202. 

’statesman,  286. 
stimulus,  271. 
story,  very  fine,  231. 
sublime,  258. 
sudden,  241. 

Suffren,  196. 
superstition,  268. 
sur-rebribed,  227. 

Suspiria  de  Profundis , 250. 

Talavera,  239. 


INDEX 


297 


Tallyho,  230. 
tap,  265. 
taxed  cart,  246. 

Te  Deum,  200,  222,  249. 
Tellurians,  211. 

Templars,  199. 
terms,  223. 
terrxfilius,  251. 
tertia , 285. 

“ That  loved  the  bird,”  etc.,  268. 

“ the  jewelled  crown,”  etc.,  206. 

Thiebault,  257. 

thimble,  256. 

three-decker,  248. 

thrilling,  232. 

tin,  277. 

Tindal’s  Christianity , 207. 
Tippoo,  195. 
tirailleur’s,  267. 

Titans,  236. 

“ to  have  and  to  hold,”  253. 
to  love,  honour,  and  obey,  263. 
toll-bar,  256. 
top  of  the  tree,  234. 
total,  254. 

Trafalgar,  222. 
trails,  197. 
treadmill,  257. 
trousseau , 254. 

Troyes,  208. 

Trujillo,  263. 

Tucuman,  277. 
tumultuosissimamente , 248. 
turrets,  234. 

twenty-third  Dragoons,  239. 
two  words  to  a bargain,  252. 


uncles  of  Henry  VI,  208. 
uncular,  257. 
valet  consequents , 255. 
Valladolid,  257. 

Valon,  258. 
vanities,  253. 

Vaucouleurs,  192. 

Velasquez,  289. 
venta,  280. 

Vera  Cruz,  285. 
vespers,  254. 

Vicar  of  Wakefield , 286. 

Victoria,  205. 

Virgin  Mary,  204. 

Vision  of  Sudden  Death , 241. 
Vittoria,  222,  256. 
viva,  255. 

Von  Troil’s  Iceland,  227. 

Vosges,  201. 

waltz,  264,  276. 

Wandering  Jew,  267. 

“ was  sweet  as  summer,”  283. 
Waterloo,  222,  233,  242,  249. 
Waterton,  234,  235. 
way-bill,  228. 
weather  beam,  248. 

Wellington  trousers,  256. 
Westmoreland,  242. 
whistle  for  a wind,  264. 
Winchester,  218. 

Worcester,  224. 

“ written  strange  defeatures,”  etc.. 
274. 

yarn  of  life,  257. 

York,  232.  ' 

Zeno,  226. 


Ulysses,  233. 
un  peu  fort,  206. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


